


Catalyst

by bittersweetlapse



Series: Broken and Fixed [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, kanmeu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetlapse/pseuds/bittersweetlapse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Kankri Vantas. You're 23 and deadbeat in one of the nicest colleges in the city. Except...you don't care. About anything, or anybody. Not anymore. Sigh. It's hard being a social justice blogger with a slew of psychological problems. It's hard, and no one understands. </p><p>Except, maybe, for the annoying, anime-shipper-tumblr girl, Meulin, who just...won't...leave...you...alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo yo! kiri's back! i wanted to publish what i had of Catalyst and get that going, because it takes place in the same universe as Mother of One, and it should be pretty sweet to see certain events from one fic coincide with the other. uwu Catalyst is set in the same city as Mother of One. kankri is karkat's older brother.
> 
> ok, i realized that, being a high school student, i literally have no idea what college is like. so if you actually go to college, please dont be...heh... _triggered_ by my blatant lack of knowledge.

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and you’re wallowing in your own self misery, just like you’ve been doing for the past few years of your life. 

Leaning back on your pillow backrest, you heave a painful sigh. Per usual, no one is talking to you. That’s nothing new--you’ve spent a good few years in more or less cyber-solitude. Real life solitude, too, for that matter. Then again, who wants to listen to you lecture on and on about shit that no one cares about? Even if it’s important stuff, no one takes you seriously any more. 

It’s like high school all over again, you think, allowing yourself a slight, wry smile. High school was easily the worst time of your life, by far. No need to go into detail about what you already know too well, though. You think you’ll just go back to browsing Tumblr when--

_Ping!_

You flinch at the sudden, unexpected noise. Your music is blasting, but your mac computer has this really dumb function where it pauses your music and lets the ringer go off, directly into your surround-sound, state-of-the-art headphones. 

Cursing quite loudly--never mind that it’s 1 am, you have the whole goddamn room to yourself, anyway--you move to check the reminders app to see what you’ve forgotten. Med check? No, you don’t take any meds this late. New follower on Tumblr, mayhap? Curious now, because the sound is slightly unfamiliar, you pull up the reminder and _god fucking dammit not her again_

Why has she messaged you? You want to scream. Hadn’t you been perfectly clear that you didn’t want to talk to her? 

Wait, what are you saying? You’re never clear about anything. It was her, she blew up at you in a fit of rage and stopped talking to you about a month ago. 

To your luck, she had finally stopped pestering you, finally stopped fussing and meddling and sending you those really stupid Japanese cat emoticons and never shutting up about anime and psychology and, worst of all, trying to fix you. 

You had scared her off, though, in the end. Just like everybody else.

There’s a strange feeling in your throat that you can’t identify, and you taste bile, but you click on the Pesterchum app anyway. 

THREE MONTHS EARLIER...

You stare at the app curiously. Who’s this olive-text chumhandle belong to? You don’t recognize it. Besides, who in their right mind would pester _you?_

aberrantChatter  [AC]  began pestering causticGeneralization [CG] 

AC: ヽ(=^-ω-^=)ﾉ HEY THERE, KANKRI!  
AC: (=^・?・^=) ERRR....THIS IS KANKRI, RIGHT? 

You’re not sure how to reply, at first. You’d assume from the cat emoticons that it’s a girl. But why would a girl want to message your sorry self? How did she get your chumhandle, for that matter? You don’t give it out, normally. 

CG: Yes, this is he.  
CG: May I inquire ab69t the nature 9f y9urself?   
AC: (^・ω・^) OH, IT'S MEULIN LEIJON!  
AC: (=^・?・^=) I THINK I'M IN ONE OR TWO OF YOUR CLASSES. 

Oh, it’s _this_ chick. The mostly-deaf one who is fluent in sign language and shrieks about anime in her too-loud voice, even though she has a hearing aid. She has a boyfriend last you checked, some Kurloz Makara who dresses in “punk” skeleton clothes and is as mute as Meulin is deaf. He’s infamous for dragging Meulin down into all sorts of trouble, when she used to be really naive and innocent back in high school. There’s rumors going around that they get high on catnip and sign memes to each other half the night, but you have a little trouble believing that catnip can be smoked like marijuana.

And that’s not even including the shipping. Meulin spent a good half the year trying to get you and Latula, your long-standing crush, together, as well as half your classmates in “quadrants” of relationships. A nice sentiment, but one that ended up making you look even more ridiculous than you already are.

Anyway, not your type of gal. Even if she didn’t have a boyfriend, you’re the campus fool all by yourself, and the last thing you need is everybody knowing you were being hit on by Leijon--and even if that’s not her agenda, better safe than sorry.

CG: Ah, hell9 there.  
CG: If I may 6e s9 b9ld to inquire, h9w did y9u get ah9ld 9f my chumhandle?  
AC: (^._.^) OH, SORRY! I FURGOT TO MENTION.  
AC: (=^-ω-^=) M33NAH GAVE IT TO ME.  
AC: (=^-ω-^=) SHE SAID MEW’D LOVE TO TALK TO SOMEONE! 

You groan. Fucking Piexes, she got you again. Give your chumhandle to the Water Bitch, and that’s what happens. What was going through your head? Knowing Meenah, you were probably high. Or something slightly more insidious, as you’ve never ingested any sort of drug willingly. People stopped inviting you to parties around elementary school.

Now you’re stuck with Leijon, and vaguely pleasant as she may be, you’re not interested in having large chunks of green text about anime flung at you, now or any point in time afterward.

CG: Well...Meenah certainly is...  
CG: C9nsiderate.  
CG: I ap9l9gize, 6ut I am s9mewhat 6usy at the m9ment.

Grinning, you survey your handiwork proudly. Not the most subtle of messages. It should get through the shipper girl’s empty head pretty fast.

AC: ( ≧Д≦) AWW...  
AC: (=;･;=) THAT SUCKS.  
AC: (=;･;=) I’LL LEAVE MEW ALONE FUR NOW, BUT MEW’RE NOT GETTING AWAY FUROM ME FUR GOOD!  
AC: (｀ε´) THIS CHAT CAN’T BE AVOIDED.  
AC: (=^..^=)┛LATERS!

aberrantChatter [AC] ceased pestering causticGeneralization [CG] 

Wow, those emoticons are getting really fucking annoying.

Sigh. You wonder if you should block her on Pesterchum. You’re not really interested in what she has to say, especially if it’s about you, which it undoutably is, if she’s coming from Meenah. You don’t want to hear anything anyone has to say about you, because it’ll probably be criticism--or in Muelin’s case, most likely simpering compliments. You don’t like either.

You decide in the end to do nothing, and hope she goes away. If you act disinterested, she’ll probably get bored and leave.

Everybody else had, anyway.


	2. Art Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i should point out that this takes place before karkat got nepeta in Mother of One. so, the dead troll isn't nepeta. just wanted to clear that up. when I update Mother of One again, it'll be explained. :)

There’s class the next morning, but you really don’t want to go. College is not like high school, where there are tardies and penalties for skipping class. In college, you can do whatever the hell you want. You can show up to class two hours late, or not at all. College is all for the student’s benefit, and the teachers couldn’t care less what you do. You’re the one paying, after all. 

Unless, of course, you’re you, who only went to college because your parents used your 504k plan to excuse your awful grades on behavior problems. That, and they had a lot of money. A shit ton. You don’t like to flaunt it. It’s just one more thing that makes you stand out.

In the end, you decide to get up--it’s 10 am, anyway, and your first class starts at 10:30--and pull on your omnipotent red sweater and a pair of black skinny jeans.

It’s a running joke with you and another student, Porrim, that the only pair of pants you used to own back in high school were these god-awful chest-high leggings from Goodwill. This of course wasn’t the case, of course, but wearing them every day did seem to create the illusion that you were poor. Out of pity, which you always appreciate, she knitted you a really big red sweater, which was honestly the nicest clothing item you’ve ever received. That includes the expensive designer cardigans, shoes, vests, trousers that your parents didn’t seem to realize you didn’t want.

Your “social justice” side is mostly a ruse, but you do get a spark of warmth from donating those to the actual Goodwill. It makes you feel just a bit less of a worse person to think that some hobo might end up with Gucci shoes for ten bucks. 

You grab some frozen thing from the ice box, take it out, and throw it in the microwave before you even know what you’re heating up. You end up with two soggy waffles, which is more than adequate for your half-asleep senses. Throwing them on a plate and drowning them in maple syrup, you carefully cut them with a knife and fork, and eat the waffle slices one at a time. Just because you’re alone and tired doesn’t mean you have to be a slob. 

Your younger brother, Karkat, on the other hand...now there’s a messy apartment. He’s almost as miserable as you, after the death of that weird little troll of his.

Speaking of Karkat, you’re now feeling bad about him. You two don’t talk much, but he’s been having trouble getting over his “pet”’s death. She wasn’t a pet, really, but Karkat was extremely attached to her. You personally didn’t understand it.  
PDD-NOS: Similar to Aspergers, but less severe. Among other things, it renders you much less empathetic than most normal people. 

Still, you can fake empathy when you try. You pull out your Iphone 5s and pester your brother. You both use this weird app called Pesterchum that you prefer to the Iphone’s built-in texting app.

causticGeneralization [CG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG].

CG: Karkat, y9u sh9uld get a pet.  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK, KANKRI.  
CG: I am seri9us. I 6elieve that it w9uld help you get 9ver y9ur sadness 9f the death 9f your tr9ll.  
CG: AND YOU WOULD KNOW A WHOLE LOT ABOUT THIS TOPIC BECAUSE…?  
CG: Hum9r me, Karkat.  
CG: There are pr9ven 6enifits 9f living with a d6mesticated animal.  
CG: WHAT MADE YOU COME UP WITH THIS ASSFUCKING “ANIMAL” IDEA OF YOURS, ANYWAY? IT’S NOT LIKE YOU TO GIVE ANY SHITS ABOUT ANYONE, LET ALONE ME.  
CG: I supp9se y9u c9uld call it a...hunch.  
CG: RIGHT. I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND AS I WORK MY CHEAP JOB AND LIVE IN A SHITTY APARTMENT, ALONE. WITH NO CAR. AND NO GIRLFRIEND.  
CG: WAIT, THAT SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE I KNOW! GIVE ME A SECOND.  
CG: SURPRISE, DINGLEFUCKER. YOU’RE THE LOSER. IT’S YOU.  
CG: Thank y9u f9r y9ur kind w9rds of wisd9m.  
CG: I will keep them in mind. 

causticGeneralization [CG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG].

See? That’s what you get when you try to be nice to people! Karkat’s not a good example, of course. He’s a jerk to begin with. Must run in the family.  
You stand up and stretch. It’s now 10:23. Better split.  
The college is a short walk from your apartment. It’s a nice one, with a huge campus, and first-class education. Too bad you were never qualified to go there in the first place.  
You wanted to take astrophysics, which you’re in now. The other courses that appealed to you are not nearly as fun as they were at the start. Somehow, along with some math course that you’d be good at if you tried, you ended up with an art class. Go figure.  
You smack your palm as you remember that the art class has Meulin in it. Fuck. You know she’ll try to talk to you as you work feebly at your surrealist landscape pencil sketch, and try to help you. Just because you’re used to it and know how to deal doesn’t mean it’s not annoying.

You’re planning on avoiding people completely, like you do every day, but that doesn’t happen, because Meenah saunters up to you first as you’re crossing campus. She has a wicked grin on her dark face, and her ridiculously long, black braids snap her back as she struts. 

“Yo Insufferable!” she shouts, attracting the attention of a couple of other students as she says it. “How’d you like that Pesterchum chat?”

“It was pleasant, thank you,” you respond amicably, shouldering your books. “I presume you were the one who gave Leijon my Chumhandle?”

“That’s me,” Meenah says slyly. She approaches you, and opens her arms for a hug. She knows you hate close physical contact.

You move to the side, but Meenah’s quick, and ducks her lean, short body under your arms. You don’t see anything for a second, but then she reappears, leaning on your shoulder.

“Cod, what a loser,” she hisses in your ear, making you jump. She cackles and hugs your neck. The action may seem affectionate to passersby, but she’s really starting to cut off air flow. “You two are perfect for each other.”

“Let go,” you croak, feeling your heartbeat quicken, and not in the good way.

Meenah laughs again and oh god you can feel something small and wet on your earlobe. She fucking licks you.

“Too bad your bro’s so little,” she murmurs. “If he wasn’t so grumpy, I’d suggest a little...party.” 

“Like the one where you drugged me!” you snap, feeling heat erupt from your face down. “This is very triggering, Meenah--release me!”

You feel the pressure on your neck disappear, and Meenah reappears in front of you. Even though you tower over most people you know, including her, Meenah still manages to look you down her nose. 

“It was going so well until ya mentioned flippin’ triggers,” she complains, but a sly grin has seated itself in the corner of her painted black mouth. She’s fucking with you, and now the whole campus knows. 

You can hear laughter, and you can tell it’s not in your favor, because Meenah isn’t on your side. She doesn’t even have a thing for you--everybody knows she’s soft on Aranea Serket, who happens to be your ex. (Yes, you did have a girlfriend, for a time. It didn’t last long. She wouldn’t shut up about trying to fix you.) 

Your face is on fire. A list of triggering things: close physical contact, sudden noises, any form of flirting. Meenah just did all three, and you reacted perfectly. She doesn’t normally become so...personal when she messes with you. Must be a new trick.

You struggle to make your face blank, and to reduce the blood flow in your cheeks. You push past her without a sound, and you hear someone yell, “What’sa matter, Vantas? You triggered?”

You’ve always thought it very unfair that your list of things that bother you irrationally--your “triggers”--are bullying bait, especially since they are involuntary and due to your list of psychological disorders. But tell that to a group of kids who have rejected and laughed at you since day one.

A list of triggers: blatant stupidity, insensitivity. You know whatever you say will just be used against you, so you keep walking, feeling your eyes burn. But you haven’t cried in years, so you’ve gotten very good at holding the tears back.

Once you’re in the building, you make your way down to the art room. It’s a friendly enough place, with bright fall light streaming in through the large windows, but the amazing art on the walls reminds you, once again, that you don’t belong here.

You used to think you were decent at art. You drew pictures of Iron Man and Tardises and pretended like you had an actual talent. But of course, there was always one chick who shoved her real talent down your throat…

The ever-present sketchbook sits open on the desk next to you to some half-finished anime drawing. It’s marvelous, even though it’s incomplete: cute girl, short skirt, big boobs. You aren’t opposed to this art style at all, even though you pretend to be. 

“Hey, Kankri!” Meulin says loudly, energetically setting her stuff down next to yours.

You inwardly groan. No avoiding her now. You really should have stayed home today.

“How’s your handscape going?” she asks, giggling. Her voice is too loud, attracting irritated looks from the students before they remember that she’s mostly deaf. ‘Handscape’ is the term for the current project you’re working on--drawing hands extremely realistically, in a surreal setting. 

In response, you pull out the paper from your cubby. You’ve enjoyed working on this one (gasp!). The background is void with tiny, twinkling stars. A hand is holding a telescope from the side, but somehow the hand turns into the telescope halfway through. You’re quite pleased with the blending you’ve done, really. 

Meulin gapes. “Woah! How cool! I like the hand turning into a telescope. It really shows symbolism!”

“Thanks,” you mutter, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You really, really don’t want to be associated with Meulin right now. Why does she have to be so damn loud? It’s really embarrassing, and makes you look like an idiot. Then again, it’s not like your reputation can get any worse.

Come to think of it...you realize she hadn’t always been deaf. A tragic accident, apparently. No one ever really figured out what happened. But she was with Kurloz then, and as far as you know, they’re still together now. She seemed to have gotten even larger than life after her deafness--not just in volume, but in personality. Even noisier, even more peppy. 

Meulin’s dark face glows. Her neck is almost lost in the folds of her ridiculously big,green sweater. It’s similar to yours, actually, except that it looks like something Molly Weasley would knit for Christmas. Your sweater has class.

Much as you loathe to admit it, you’re fairly impressed at the girl’s talent at art. You subtly glance over as she bends to get her piece. She’s kept this one well hidden from you, for some reason--never drawing next to you in class, always going across the room. You wonder why she would possibly do that. It’s not like her art has any actual meaning, anyway. That head of hers is filled with fluff and anime, magical girls and cat ears.

Sure enough, she takes the drawing out quickly, and flounces across the room before you can look at it. Fascinating. 

Whatever. You’re mildly annoyed that you were even thinking about Leijon at all. You hunch over your tagboard and continue cross-hatching the shading on the hand.

Thankfully, the class passes with no abnormalities. Leijon doesn’t bother you, and you get some quality work in. You might actually get a decent grade on this thing.

As you’re packing up, Meulin walks over to you like she wants to talk. The clip-on cat tail sways as she moves. 

“So, uh, Kankri, I wanted to ask you something,” she says in a normal tone, which is quiet for her.

“Of course,” you say openly, although you’re quickly working on the inside, preparing your facade for public view. 

Meulin leans in to you, which makes you lean back. Maybe it’s not so subtle, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her face adopts a worried expression.

“Are you okay?”

Her question throws you for a loop. What a broad, vast ocean of answers this opens up. You know what to do, however. 

You flinch, and then make it look like you’re having trouble meeting her eyes. That’s not hard--you dislike eye contact quite a bit. Normally you just look at the person’s cheek or  
something, but now you flicker your gaze to her eyes, and then to the ground. You swallow and look up, and fake another tiny flinch-cringe action, and quickly look down again. 

If you did it right--and you have no way of knowing, it’s part of the PDD diagnosis--it should look like you’re afraid of answering her question.

“O-Of course!” you respond, swallowing once more for good measure. In retrospect, maybe all that was a little much. 

But sure enough, Meulin takes the bait. Her forehead creases, and she tilts her head to the side like a cat. “You don’t sound so sure.”

You straighten your turtleneck and do your best to meet her eyes. “What on earth makes you think I’m not?”

Meulin hesitates, seeing everybody else gone. The teacher hasn’t even looked up from her papers once the entire class, though, so she continues. 

“You’re so...quiet,” she says finally. “I hear them laughing at you. Doesn’t it bother you?”

This, this is the crucial moment. You’ve got her on the hook, and how you act next determines whether or not Meulin will leave you alone, or keep pestering you.

In a split second, you realize that having a persistent disciple isn’t exactly a bad thing. Meulin may be annoying, but you feed off of attention of any kind, annoying or no. It’ll be good just to have someone talking to you who doesn’t hate you.

And you’ll never tell her anything real, of course. Just keep spinning a web of lies, all while she thinks she’s getting to know you. But of course, you don’t really trust her, so you’ll keep her in the dark. 

You don’t trust anyone. It’s much less painful and ultimately easier that way.

You furrow your brow and murmur, “Yeah...it really does.”


	3. First Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since this chapter mentions dr. who, i just want to insert a disclaimer: kankri's views on the show aren't mine. so don't jump down my throat, please--thanks!

You left class then, on the premise of being late--left Meulin hanging, knowing that she’d be curious enough to pester you about it later. God, you really are a genius. You do have your weak points, but damn, son! You’re one fine actor!

You can’t help but grin. Sometimes, you wish you weren’t so clever. It gets a bit lonely, all by yourself with no one to trust.

Your next class is Dr. Who time! Well, it’s not really, but it might as well be. You sit down in the back, plug in your headphones into your Ipad, and watch one of the new ones, with Clara. You really can’t stand her, honestly. The Doctor isn’t supposed to be a girl magnet! He’s a genius. Just because he’s lonely doesn’t mean he needs a constant companion hitting on him all the time. It’s bad writing, that’s what it is. 

When the episode is done, your good mood has evaporated. Bipolar disorder: (of psychiatric illness) characterized by periodic, swinging manic and depressive episodes. You get them in flashes a few hours long, usually. You’re on medication, but you still get flashes of it, because your medication is experimental. It works pretty damn well though, dulling your emotional flickers by as much as 80 percent. Of course, when you’re triggered, you’re triggered. Nothing to do about that.

A list of triggers: shittily developed characters, bad screenwriting, an incessant longing to have a Tardis. All of these factors contribute to your depressive episode, leaving you to sulk around campus until the end of the day, when you get a text from Leijon as you’re walking home. 

aberrantChatter [AC] began pestering causticGeneralization [CG].

AC: ヽ(=^-ω-^=)ﾉ HI!!  
AC: (=;･;=) I HOPE THIS ISN’T BOTHERING MEW.

It’s actually annoying as fuck, having someone text you out of the blue, but you’ll just pretend like it isn’t, because…you kind of like the feeling of being “hailed”. It makes you feel important. Wanted.

CG: G99d day.  
CG: D9n’t w9rry a69ut it.  
AC: (^・ω・^) HOW’S IT GOING? ANYTHING FUN HAPPEN TODAY?  
CG: N9, I’m afraid n9t.  
AC: ( ≧Д≦) WHY???  
CG: Suffice t9 say that sch99l is…  
CG: N9t the m9st interesting task.

Oh, you hate these kinds of conversations. You really, really hate them. Now it’s just going to cut off awkwardly. Why does asking about your day always amount to this? You hate talking to people. It’s just stupid and pointless. That’s why you don’t do it.

Meulin doesn’t give up so easily, though. You’re not sure if you’re pleased or embarrassed.

AC: (=^・?・^=) THERE MUST HAVE B33N /SOMETHING/ THAT WAS OK ABOUT YOUR DAY, THOUGH.  
AC: (^・ω・^) OH, I KNOW! ART CLASS WAS OK, RIGHT?

Ugh. Her positivity is almost sickening. Is it really strictly necessary for her to keep using those freaking emoticons?

FA: Ah, I supp9se.

There. That’s the best you can do. You feel a little bad, but conversations really are not your forte. Was Meulin under the impression that you’d be telling her all about your life the first time she texted you? You wonder.

There’s a lapse of a minute or so, but then your phone vibrates in your pocket again.

AC: (^・ω・^) WELL, THEN, WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?

She doesn’t give up, does she. You have to give her credit for being persistent enough to try to keep talking to you. You aren’t sure, but you imagine that you probably sounded like you were trying to blow her off.

CG: Well, at this very m9ment, I happen t9 6e walking h9me.  
AC: (=^・?・^=) OH, REALLY?  
CG: As impr96a6le as the situati9n s9unds, it is true.  
AC: (=≧▽≦=) T33 H33! I’M JUST SITTING AROUND.  
AC: (^._.^) KURLOZ AND I WERE GOING TO GO TO A MEWVIE TONIGHT, BUT I GUESS HE’S BUSY.  
AC: (=^･^=) HE HASN’T TEXTED ME BACK YET, SO I TEXTED MEW!

Wow. You can really feel the joy emanating from every pore on your body. It’s oozing out of you. You think you’re going to drown in it. 

But, sarcasm aside, there is yet another moment to insert a self-deprecating, pitiable comment into the conversation here. She makes it so damn easy.

CG: 9ut 9f all 9f y9ur friends, y9u…  
CG: *Wanted* t9 text me?  
AC: ( =^・◇・^=)?  
AC: SILLY KANKRI! THERE’S, LIKE, NO ONE ELSE IN MY CONTACTS LIST. DUH! 

Gee. You wonder why.

CG: J9in the clu6, I supp9se.  
AC: (=;･;=) AWW…  
AC: ヽ(=^-ω-^=)ﾉ WELL, GOOD THING WE’RE FURIENDS, RIGHT?  
CG: Friends?  
CG: I d9n’t have...friends.  
AC: (=・ヘ・?=) BUT...AREN’T I A FURIEND? 

Umm. Uhhh. Ummmmmmmm. You walk up the stairs to your apartment, taking a moment to figure out how to respond appropriately.

CG: 9f c9urse. I meant…  
CG: I have n9 9ne, really.  
CG: We may 6e talking n9w, 6ut s99ner 9r later, y9u’ll get 69red with me and m9ve 9n.  
CG: Just like every69dy else.

You smirk a little. This statement isn’t technically untrue. But you’ve altered the words to make it sound particularly self-deprecating and pathetic. 

AC: (=;･;=) I THINK I’M GONNA CRY. MY HEART. THE F33LS!  
AC: (=;･;=) I PURROMISE I WON’T DITCH YOU! I WANT TO HELP YOU!

Uh-oh.

You feel your heart drop out of your stomach, and your pride vanish. “Help” is the last thing you need. You don’t want “help”, especially not from Meulin. Because you know exactly what “help” constitutes of. It’s what Aranea tried to give to you, and it’s what Latula gave Mituna, and Kurloz gave Meulin, and it’s exactly what you can’t take.

Now, if it was Latula...if it was Latula Pyrope who wanted to help you, you’d consider it. Or maybe a hot chick. But overweight, flawed Meulin Leijon? No way. No way. 

A list of triggers: People probing for your personal information. It requires you to step out of your comfort zone. And God knows how you hate to lift a finger for anything.

CG: I appreciate the sentiment.  
AC: (=^･^=) I’M A PSYCHOLOGIST!  
AC: (=^･^=) I JUST KNOW THAT EVEN THOUGH MEW ACT LIKE MEW DON’T N33D IT, I KNOW MEW JUST WANT SOMEONE TO TALK TO.  
AC: ヽ(=^-ω-^=)ﾉ AND THAT’S WHAT I’M GONNA DO!  
AC: (^・ω・^) I KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE ALONE. 

There’s a reason you don’t like talking to people. There’s a reason you shut yourself out. If you were a dog, your hackles would be raised. 

Meulin knows what it’s like to be resented and left out from day one. To always be mocked and ignored, and never included. Right. She totally knows. 

CG: I ap9l9gize if this c9mes 9ut rude, but…  
CG: I highly d9u6t you have the same experiences as me.  
AC: (^uωu^) WELL, OF COURSE NOT.  
AC: (^・ω・^) BUT IT’S MY ASPIRED JOB TO HELP PEOPLE IN SITUATIONS LIKE THIS!  
AC: (^･o･^) OH! KURLOZ JUST TEXTED ME.  
AC: ~(=^‥^)ノ G2G! LATERS, KANKRI!

aberrantChatter [AC] ceased pestering causticGeneralization [CG].

Good. You were starting to get more than a little annoyed there. You realize you haven’t even walked through the door of your apartment. Rather, you’ve been standing outside, watching the instant messages go through.You frown and unlock the door with your keyring, which has a tiny model Tardis on it, among other, geeky things.

Once you get inside, you sink into the couch in front of the television. You really don’t have anything else to do, now. Homework is a non-issue, and you have no one to talk to. You could watch TV, you suppose. That’s so boring, though. (Being an old movie geek, you’ve watched practically everything that’s worth watching on Netflix and most of the stuff that isn’t worth watching.) 

You pull out your laptop from your bag, log in, and pull up Tumblr. Leaning back against your pillow backrest, you heave a painful sigh. Deja vu much? Yup, this is your life. Time clinging to your hands, and a decent future dissolving into mist.

To your immense shock, to find yourself wishing that you had someone to see a movie with. Wow. Wishful thinking much? Aranea would never watch movies with you quietly. All she wanted to do was talk about you, and how you needed help. There’s one reason why hearing Meulin suggest you need help brushed your fur the wrong way.

All you’ve ever gotten all your life is “help”. Psychotic help, homework help, getting-through-life help. Everybody tries to fix you, but nobody seems to be able to do anything worthwhile except for robbing you of the need to actually do anything.

You’ll be the first to admit you don’t mind. You’re a lazy man. You like being able to sit back and be showered with nice things, like a warm apartment and plenty of checks in the mail. It would sting a little less if you didn’t feel so privileged, though. Hence your social justicey-habits.

Karkat never liked your parents either. He went out on a limb and stopped communicating with them completely, living on a meager wage that he earned, going to Running Start and actually doing the work. The death of his troll kinda put him over the edge, though. You had warned him not to get too attached.

“Everything is temporary,” you say out loud, hearing as Imagine Dragons comes on your playlist. “Everything and everyone will just stab you in the back.”

_Don’t get too close, your headphones sing to you. It’s dark inside. It’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide._


	4. Hug Time

Later that night, Meulin texts you again. You’re not sure how to feel about this, as you’re in the middle of a very pleasant Sherlock marathon. (You can’t get enough of acting like the detective. You’re almost 100% sure it adds to your “mysterious-and-most-definitely-NOT-an-asshole” factor.) In the end, though, you decide to respond.

aberrantChatter [AC] began pestering causticGeneralization [CG].

AC: (^・ω・^) THAT MEWVIE WAS GREAT!  
AC: ヽ(=^-ω-^=)ﾉ I HAD A LOT OF FUN. I LOVE ANIMATED MEWVIES!

You don’t bother to ask the movie name. You have a feeling Meulin will move on by herself. Sure enough, she does. 

AC: ( =^・◇・^=)? SO, DID MEW DO ANYTHING FUN WHILE I WAS GONE?  
CG: N9.  
AC: （=￣□￣;=） OH COME ON.   
AC: (^・ω・^) MEW COULDN’T HAVE PAWSSIBLY SAT AROUND HATING MEWRSELF ALL NIGHT!  
CG: …  
AC: ∑(;°Д°)  
CG: Y9u w9uldn’t 6elieve me if I t9ld y9u what I *really* did.  
AC: (¬､¬) TRY ME.

Okay. Time to see just how much Leijon will believe. Bullshit time...go. 

CG: I’m 6uilding an Ir9n Man suit.   
AC: ( =°Д°=) REALLY???????  
CG: Indeed. It’s thick en9ugh to st9p a 6ullet...9h, five inches in?  
AC: (=°ｏ°=) HOW DID MEW BUILD SOMETHING LIKE THAT???  
CG: Ingenuity, hard w9rk, and many kil9grams 9f ir9n.  
AC: (;¬_¬) THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER…  
AC: ヽ(‘ー`)ノ I MEAN, LIKE, THERE’S NO WAY MEW COULD HAVE BUILT THAT BY MEWRSELF.   
CG: I t9ld y9u that y9u w9uldn’t 6elieve me.  
CG: I guess that makes zer9 pe9ple that actually care...  
AC: ( ；´Д｀) NO, IT’S NOT THAT I DON’T CARE!  
AC: ヽ（゜ロ゜；）ノ I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!  
AC: ヽ（*ω。）ノ YOU KNOW WHAT, WHATEVER. IF YOU BUILT AN IRON MAN SUIT, GREAT FUR YOU!  
AC: ヾ(*´ー`)ノ I CAN’T ASSUME THAT MEW DIDN’T. THERE’S TONS ABOUT YOU THAT I DON’T KNOW! 

And I’m keeping it that way.

Step one completed. Guilt-tripping is kind of great. Gets you out of all sorts of unpleasant situations.

There’s a long pause, of about seven minutes or so. Meulin does come back, though. Guess she thought of something to keep the conversation going.

AC: (ﾟﾍﾟ) CHANGE OF SUBJECT!!  
AC: (=ㅇㅅㅇ=) WHY DID MEW SAY “KILOGRAMS” INSTEAD OF, LIKE, POUNDS OR SOMETHING?  
AC: (゜-゜)THATS SO WIERD!!!1!   
CG: 9hhh yess.  
CG: The metric system is far m9re accurate than the imperial measurement system.  
CG: Any scientist w9rth his salt uses it.  
AC: (´Д｀) YOU DONT N33D TO BE SO MEAN!!!   
AC: (# ﾟДﾟ) I’M A SCIENTIST TOO! └(=^‥^=)┐  
CG: My ap9l9gies.  
AC: d(=^･ω･^=)b ITS ALL GOOD!!! (=^‥^=)  
AC: (=´∇｀=) MEWRE TOO NICE TO BE MEAN!!! (＞▽＜)

You swear to fucking god, you are going to shoot Leijon the next time she uses one of those freaking...Japanese...emoticons. How are there even so many? How does she manage to use a separate one for each chunk of text, and more besides????

Whatever. Anyway, you’ve grown bored of talking to the cat girl. Once she starts talking about being a scientist...Whoosh! Way out of your interest field. She seems to be getting more energetic as well. That’s the last thing you need.

CG: I hate t9 6reak up the c9nversati9n…  
CG: But I must be g9ing.  
AC: (´∩｀。) OH...OKAY. I GET IT!!  
AC: (^・ω・^ ) TVS HARD TO BREAK AWAY FROM HUH??/?/?

Wait...what? 

AC: (o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o) WELL, ILL S33 YUO IN A MINUTE!!!!1!!  
AC: (・｀ω´・) HAVE FUN WATCHING SHERLOCK!!!11!

aberrantChatter [AC] ceased pestering causticGeneralization [CG].

You drop your phone and stare out the window. It’s very dark, and there is most definitely no one there. 

You smile foolishly and snicker. That was ridiculous. Why the hell would Meulin be spying on you? She must have...guessed. Yeah. That’s all.

Paranoia: 1. A mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically elaborated into an organized system.  
2\. Suspicion and mistrust of people or their actions without evidence or justification.

“Hi, Kankri!”

You scream loudly and obnoxiously, and probably jump three feet. Meulin is standing...in your house. In your fucking apartment. At. Your. Fucking. Door.

The Hispanic girl giggles at your fright. “Heya, silly! You sounded very sad on Pesterchum. I wanted to check up on you to make sure you weren’t, you know, crying your eyes out alone in a corner or something!”

You’re crouched down on the other side of the room, panting like you’ve just run a mile. Your heart’s going a million miles an hour, and you can feel your face start to heat up.

A list of triggers: PEOPLE SHOWING UP IN YOUR GODDAMN APARTMENT WITHOUT YOUR PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OR CONSENT, PEOPLE STARTLING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU.

“H-how. Did you get into my house,” you manage to choke out.

“I have a skeleton key!” Meulin yells, brandishing a silvery-blue unlocking device otherwise known as a key, in most circles. “I bought it so I could check on Kurloz, because sometimes he gets funny in the head and locks the door to our apartment, and he hides all the spares so no one can get in!!” She jumps up and down, waving her arms. 

“Kindly explain again why you’re here?” you manage, crawling up on your feet. You still can’t believe that this girl literally broke into your house...

“To check on YOU!” Meulin shrieks, giggling obnoxiously, flouncing over to you, and pointing a finger in your face. She’s even louder and more hyper-sounding than usual. Her pajamas are onesies with kitten faces all over them and...oh god. Are those cat memes? It’s hard to tell, because she’s moving so fast. She’s tapping her fingers, twitching her toes, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Something doesn’t seem right. She’s reminding you of yourself, when you were younger, when you would have a manic episode. 

You steel yourself to look into her dull green eyes. Sure enough...her pupils are dilated. And as you glance at her nose, you see traces of white powder.

In other words, Meulin is really fucking high.

“Hey, Kankri,” Meulin says in a low voice, then giggling hysterically. With an unpleasant start, you realize you’re at least a foot closer to her then you were before. It had been just to get a closer look at her face, but you quickly regret it as she throws her arms around you. 

“HUG TIME!!!” she squeals, squeezing you so tight you think you’re going to puke. Her head only comes up to your throat, and it generates an unpleasantly human warmth. Her hair rubs against your chin. It would be kind of nice, actually, if you weren’t having the breath crushed out of you, or if the hugger in question wasn’t, you know, currently under the influence of a stimulant drug. 

“That’s enough of that!” you say in a panicky voice, feeling fear begin to clump in your throat. You yank yourself out of the girl’s grip and step a good few paces back. A list of triggers: Being touched.

Meulin’s face falls comically.

“No...no hug time?” she whimpers, lowering her arms.

“No! No hug time!” you yell, feeling your fear start to overrun your common sense. Now you’re stuck in your relatively small apartment with a high girl that you don’t even like. And you know what kind of symptoms come next. “Get...get out of my house!”

Your volume has the desired effect. Meulin steps back from you. However, her mouth soon widens into a huge, demented grin.

“But I liiiiiiiiiiike you! Can’t we stay together???”

“NO! Meulin, you have a boyfriend!”

“He doesn’t like me anymore.” Meulin’s voice has suddenly dropped, so it’s about average volume. For her, it’s probably a whisper. “Kurloz is mean. He tries to make me do...weird things. And smoke things. Clowns! When I don’t, sometimes he gets very angry!”

Confusion sets in. As far as you know, Kurloz and Meulin have been together for years, and they always seem to be the best of friends when you see them. Could he really be…

“I’m thirsty,” Meulin suddenly interjects, walking over to the kitchen. She flings open a random cabinet and nearly knocks a whole shelf of plates to the floor.

“No!” you wail, rushing over and steadying the rocking pile of plates. By then, Meulin’s grabbed a half-empty can of an orange Starbucks Refresher with trembling hands and gulped it down.

As you look around, wondering how to get her out before she breaks something else, Meulin sprays her Refresher all over the floor, eyes bulging. The liquid sloshes all over your sweater as you’re turning in horror, the kitchen too small to jump out of the way.

Meulin stares at you, dripping wet, and drops her can, laughing maniacally. “SORRY!!!! I just couldn’t hold it in!!”

You just stare at her, at the frenzied girl now rushing around your apartment, picking up a book experimentally, and then throwing it at a wall, laughing again. It’s 10 pm. Aside from waking up everybody within a mile radius, you don’t know how long Meulin’s high will last, meaning you could be stuck with her for hours. 

Suddenly, a bright idea comes to your mind. 

“Meulin, wait here,” you say sternly. “I’m going to go, uh, get something. Don’t throw anything else!” You dash off without waiting for an answer. 

You cabinets are full of pills. That’s just how you roll. With several diagnosed psychological disorders, you have a shit ton of medications, from prescribed patches to over-the-counter sleeping syrups. Nothing sketchy though. You’ve never willfully ingested an illegal drug. 

You grab a bottle of Ambien CR: Extended Release! and dump two pills into your hand. (As much as Meulin annoys you, you don’t want a corpse on your hands.)

Running back into the kitchen, you find Meulin perched on the arm of the couch like a bird, holding...a pair of your pants? Oh god, it’s the yoga pants you never took off in high school. Why the fuck does she have those?

“I found them in a box behind the couch,” she whispers, turning to stare at you with wide eyes. 

“Put those down,” you say, feeling like the situation would be funny on a sitcom, but most certainly not now. 

Meulin hisses. She strokes the pants reverently and mutters something about suffering that you don’t quite catch. 

“Here,” you say desperately, shoving the pills in front of her face. “These are, uh, happy pills! They’ll, uh, make you forget about bad things--”

Meulin screeches like a cat and grabs the pills out of your hand, throwing them into her mouth. Without any water, she gulps them down, making a face. 

“Okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. “Now, just sit down, and the pills will start to work, soon.”

“How soon?” Meulin shrieks, jumping up and slamming on the ground. The couch jumps slightly as she lands. 

“Uh, a few minutes,” you say, although you actually have no idea. You just gave Meulin twice the recommended dose, but she’s also pretty high, so...you’re not sure how long it’ll take to work.

“Can we play Truth or Dare?????” Meulin wants to know, tugging on your sweater sleeve from her sitting position on the ground. 

“Absolutely not,” you snap, jerking away from her. 

“Pleaseeeeeeeee?????????” she whines, standing up. 

“NO!”

“I’m gonna cry,” Meulin threatens, falling face-first on the couch, her words slightly muffled by the fabric. 

“I don’t care!” you snap, feeling very, very overwhelmed. “If you keep asking, I’ll kick you out!”

“BAKA,” she growls, turning herself upright. “Anata wa totemo warui desu!” 

God. Now she’s lapsed into full weaboo mode. “Speak English!”

“Watashi no atama wa guru-guru desu. Sabishii...” This is said in a pitiful, weak tone. Despite your immense irritation, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. 

“Why did you take it?” you ask, slightly curious. “The cocaine. Why?”

Meulin turns to you, and you realize there are deep bags under her eyes. 

“I was gonna cry,” she says quietly. “I don’t like crying, and I don’t like knives. So I wanted to be happy. I visited you, beclaws I thought that would make you happy. But you’re mad.” She curls into a ball on the couch, her face buried. 

“Are you tired?” you ask in a lower voice. 

“Yeah,” she says, not lifting her head.

“Good,” you reply. “Just...sleep.”

Meulin turns to you then, a drowsy grin on her face. “Will you tell me a bedtime story?”

“No! Just go to bed!” you bark, vexation ruthlessly crushing any smidgen of pity. “I’m only helping you because you’re sick!”

“Meanie.” Meulin yawns, stretching out on the couch. Her eyes flutter, and then close.

“Nighty night. Sweet dreams,” she murmurs. 

You don’t respond, picking up the Refresher can on the ground and tiredly leaning against the kitchen island. 

She’s made a mess. Your relaxation room and joined kitchen are trashed. Nothing important is broken, thankfully, but your book’s spine is bent, probably beyond repair. You sigh and pick it up, setting it on the table.

Meulin’s out like a light, breathing heavily. You wonder how much she’ll remember in the morning. That’s going to be awkward. 

Walking into your bedroom, you lie down on your bed and pull the lumpy comforter over you, but you can’t seem to get comfortable, and it takes a long time for you to get to sleep.


	5. Bloody Wrists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh. this chapter took a LOT of rewriting, cutting and pasting.

You’re awoken by screaming. “Oh my god! Where the hell am I???” The voice is shrill, but hoarse, and you instantly remember all that happened last night. 

You sigh heavily. You’re really, really not looking forward to explaining to Meulin that she got high and broke into your house, sprayed soda all over you, and crashed on your couch. Speaking of that...you never changed your clothes after going to bed. You heave yourself up and quickly change into a t-shirt and jeans, and walk into the kitchen.

Meulin stares at you with wide eyes from the sofa, her face as red as your soiled sweater. “Kankri…”

“You were high,” you say hastily, rubbing your bleary eyes to have something to do with your hanging arms. “You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night.”

“Oh,” the cat girl replies, sounding, to your chagrin, slightly disappointed. She hangs her head, her long black hair falling forward, hiding her face.

“I really am sorry,” she mutters, gritting her teeth. “That was so stupid...I was off my meds. I guess I thought that snorting cocaine was a good idea, huh?” She lifts her head up and grins lopsidedly. “ADHD’s a funny disorder.”

You’re surprised for a moment, but then it clicks. Of course Meulin has ADHD. That would explain her hyperactivity, impulsive speech patterns. You don’t say anything, though. You’d rather not associate with her in any way, shape or form.

She stands up and stretches. “Well, I’ll be out of your hair now. Again, I’m sorry...I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t…” Her voice fades out, and she doesn’t meet your eyes.

What does she want you to say? That you’re sorry? Does she expect you to put a hand on her shoulder and comfort her? No! It’s her fault! The least she could do is leave with a shred of dignity!

“It’s...okay,” you say awkwardly, trying to keep the immense, burning irritation out of your voice. The feeling you have to come to associate with Meulin: Gritting your teeth, wincing, second-hand embarrassment. It’s all you can do not to scream.

Meulin hesitates, blushing even more. “Don’t suppose I can--”

“Just get out,” you say tiredly. “Get out before someone starts spreading rumors.”

Meulin looks a little hurt, but at the moment, you couldn’t care less. She turns around and slinks out the door, hunched over, and you are very, very glad to see her go. 

You try to make breakfast once she leaves, but your fridge is trashed. The milk got left out and there are lettuce shreds all over the floor. It takes you at least an hour to clean up, but luckily, she only got into the kitchen/relaxation room, so the rest of your apartment remains untouched. 

After you’re done cleaning up, you’re as tired as if you were the one who had taken those Ambien pills. You can barely believe what happened. It’s almost as fuzzy as a bad dream.

You are really starting to regret letting Meulin talk to you.

******

You still have to go to class today, it’s just 9:00 am. Yet another reason to be angry--you never get up this early. You’ve got nothing to do but go back to sleep, but that doesn’t work--you’re too tired to stay awake, too full of thoughts to rest. You’re full of nervous energy, but you can’t figure out why. Still, you lie with your face in the pillow, trying to go back to sleep.

No good. Just as you’re in that twilight zone between dreaming and awake, your alarm blares. You slam it off, cursing loudly, and try to go back to sleep, but then your phone buzzes obnoxiously with the one-minute-apart alarms you set for yourself. With a lingering sense of regret, you get up and turn them off.

You get out of bed, make a scrambled egg, two, three. You’re unusually hungry. One reason you eat less in general is because of your stimulant medication for your PDD-NOS/ADHD/whatever-disorder-gets-me-special-help-in-class diagnosis. However, this is a stimulant, so you’d be bouncing off the walls, normally. Luckily, to counter that, you have your beta, but fairly effective mood medication, so you’re not flipping faces every hour. (It’s also an anxiety suppressor. Go, Abilify!) These two tiny pills are all you need to be “normal”--which is to say, your own pathetic self, as far from normal as a caterpillar is from a butterfly.

In the past, you’ve had piles of pills, but lately, your doctors and parents have narrowed down your selection to three. The last one is new, and is supposed to help your PDD-NOS symptom of lack of empathy. However, it has some, err, interesting effects. Ones that make you extremely uncomfortable. Like empathy.

You don’t take it very much. The effects include an excess of smiling, euphoria, and increased sensitivity to almost every outside stimulus. Is this what normal people’s lives are like? You can’t handle it. 

Last time you took it, Aranea convinced you that you two should make out. And guess what? You did. And what happened after that? You woke up as if in a nightmare, with the British girl dozing on the couch, and realized that you had majorly fucked up.

You’re sure it hurt her, for you to have been so nice that one day and then suddenly...stopped, but you’ll put your own safety before others. It’s just how you roll.

You finish off your scrambled eggs and head out the door. It doesn’t hurt to get to class early. You’ll have more time to walk slowly and listen to music on the way there. Besides, you’d be doing the same thing at school or at home--browsing Tumblr abstractedly, alone, ignoring everybody.

When you’re in math class, everything is distracting and you don’t know why. The girl sitting few desks down from you snaps into focus. She’s pretty, with delicate fingers and slender shoulders, and skin the color of a fresh cloud, a new word doc. Her hair is lucid black and shoulder length, and her clothes are red and green, shining tight fabric like plastic. Garish, actually. It’s practically a crime against fashion. But somehow...it works on her. 

You don’t realize how openly you’re staring until you hear someone snicker throatily, “Aww. Does the Insufferable want a piece of Pyrope?”

You whip your head around. A woman is sitting two tables down, wearing a shirt so low-cut you wonder why she hasn’t been dress-coded. Then you remember this isn’t high school, and you know her, anyway.

“I wasn’t--” you stammer. “I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, relax, Kankri,” Porrim Maryam murmurs. “We all know how you feel about Latula.” Her dark, powdered complexion is flawless, tattoos on her cheeks and makeup slathered all over her eyes. She’s always been one for, err, showing her skin. “You know, anyway, that--”

“She and Captor are an item,” you mutter. “Right. Yes. I know.”

Porrim muses over you, her heavily lidded eyes moving like a lazy river. “You seem a bit twitchy, dear. Anything the matter?” She’s the only one who gives even half a shit about you, although she‘s still apt to make fun of you for things. She knitted your sweater, though, so you know she’s the closest thing you’ve got to a friend.

“I’m fine,” you reply in an undertone as somebody hisses, “Shut up! I’m trying to listen!” But you let the thought that maybe, just maybe, you are not fine. That you need help. That you need someone to talk to, someone to pay attention to you. 

Then you realize...these thoughts are in no way normal. You’re offended by the subject matter, and you delete them as neatly as words on a document.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Vantas?” the teacher asks you blandly, making half the class turn around and stare at you with malice, humor, other. Latula is among them, but she doesn’t look mean: Rather, quizzical, curious.

Your face is devoid of all feeling. “N-no,” you get out, and you hear the sound of suppressed laughter behind the wild beat of your heart. The teacher says something else, and the class’s attention is drawn back to him. 

Once classes are out, you slip into the halls. It’s art class now, and ironically, you can’t look at anything but your hands. They’re so...still. Normally, your ADHD meds make them tremble a bit, which isn’t a problem. But now...they’re so...static. So many little creases and patterns. You’re actually excited about working today.

But of course, that comes with a price: having to talk to Meulin.

“Sup?” she asks you cheerily, plopping her stuff down on her desk, like nothing happened last night, like she hadn’t broken into your house higher than the Empire State. 

“Not much,” you respond, your eyes involuntarily glued to a spot on the paper. Another ADHD thing: sometimes, you can’t look away from something for a few seconds. Like, you physically can’t look away. It’s weird. But you manage to snap out of it quickly enough that you don’t look retarded. At least, you think so.

Meulin pulls her art project out. But this time...this time, instead of immediately going to go over and sit at the other side of the room, she puts her 2h and 4B pencils next to the paper on the desk and unrolls her art project, looking over it with a discerning eye. And, despite your problems at the moment, you’re mesmerized.

Meulin’s somehow made her flat drawing look not only 3D, but bursting out of the page, all in her own style. The hand itself is palm out, fingers foreshortened by it, with the wrist’s veins bared. Blood drips down from them, which turns into a waterfall, which falls into a serene forest pool, where--of all things--a goat lapping is it up, its muzzle gently stained, drinking from a dark pond. 

And in the background...there are spiderwebs. Spiderwebs that cling to every available surface but the blood. They coat the hand with such a dusty, sticky texture, you instinctively brush yourself off. 

But the worst part is the eye. There’s only one, and it’s small, compared to the massive hand that takes up most of the page, but it’s at the top of the drawing with rays of light shining around it, and you get the feeling that somehow, it knows. As you look closely, you see that the beaming light around it is actually one word, in chains of tiny letters shaped like bones: Miracle. Miracle. Miracle.

“My god,” you breathe. You’re so judgemental, and so empty, that something taking you by surprise like this is very, very rare. But you have a feeling this drawing would be chilling either way.

Meulin sees you looking and jumps about thirty feet. It’s funny, how catlike she suddenly becomes, with her eyes wide open and her limbs outstretched, like a Halloween decoration. 

“Uh, sorry,” she stammers, hastily rolling up her project. She faces away from you and falters in her speech. “I…”

You’ve never seen Meulin lose her confidence, ever. In one quick moment, she has suddenly shrunk, her body and presence retracting like a tulip. Her long black hair covers her eyes, and she hunches over like an old woman. It’s a shocking transformation.

“You--you drew that?” you ask. Then you wince. No, someone else drew it and signed their name in an olive-green ink pen with a tiny Japanese emoticon. Of course she drew it, you dimwit!

“Y-yeah,” Meulin mutters. “I...I have to go work now.” With a tiny motion, she pushes past you and goes to sit at her desk across the room, taking the project with her.

You’re dumbfounded. Looks like Leijon has a scrap of sense in her after all. 

You can’t work at all now. Partly because you can’t focus, but also because you’re haunted by the eye that was on her paper. It was too damn realistic. It reminded you of someone, but you’re not sure who.

After class, you surprise yourself by packing up rather quickly and calling, “Meulin! Wait!” 

But as she hears you, the cat girl visibly tenses up. But she doesn’t leave.

You move over to stand by her, but Meulin fills in for you before you can say a word. She’s smiling, just a tiny bit. “I’ve been practicing.”

“No, I--”

Meulin interjects, looking slightly desperate, like she doesn’t want you to draw the wrong conclusion. “I’m not insane. Honest.” 

“I never...said you were,” you say hesitantly, a little nervous, because you’re beginning to think that you two are on completely different pages. There’s a slightly awkward silence.

Meulin looks up at you, and all of a sudden, she grins widely. Her teeth are a little yellow and a little crooked, but not so badly that it ruins the effect. 

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling a bit too brightly. “I’m not...suicidal, or anything like that.”

Oh. Christ. That hadn’t been your intended topic at all. You had simply wanted to know if she had heard of Salvador Dali. Shit. You weren’t even thinking about her sanity.

You think Meulin can tell by the look on your face that she was way off, and she goes slightly pale. “I...I have to go now!” she gets out, and hurries off before you can say a single word.

You’re feeling the pressure yourself, because you know a plea for attention when you see one. And Meulin’s little act there draws many parallels to the one you put on for her just the other day. Only hers was 100% authentic.

You feel like there’s fists closing in on your brain, squeezing your thoughts too tightly. You don’t want to be drawn into this. You don’t want to help Meulin. You don’t want to help anybody that actually needs it, because people are fragile, like vases, and you yourself will just end up shattering on the floor because you’re no good at advice. You’re no good at anything.

You don’t care because you can’t, because someone with a pathological fear of being touched can’t form normal bonds. And you do not care. About Meulin Leijon. At all.


	6. Fr9sty Resp9nse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everybody! so, my unofficial Catalyst hiatus is now over. i'm not as busy as i was a few months ago, so i think i'll be able to update it more regularly. 
> 
> in other news, i changed kankri's and meulin's chumhandles to be more canon. forlornAstromer becomes causticGeneralization and enthusiasticPsyche becomes aberrantChatter. 
> 
> happy holidays! uwu

Art class screws you over so bad that you catch yourself staring at your wrists for the rest of the day. It’s been a while since you’ve found yourself imagining red plasma dripping from the veins. Not since the dark days of high school, where you still pretended you could write and people still thought it funny to steal your notebook at lunch and read your increasingly angsty poetry out loud. 

You haven’t written in a while. You know you’re nothing but another tormented young adult author, spewing out hypocritical trash that you could find on a 13 year-old’s Deviantart page. And frankly, you’re not eager to read the obvious longing in the words. Longing for something that you’ll never get.

Enough wishful thinking.

Your day comes to a mundane end. You’re not quite sure how you feel about it, but Meulin doesn’t text you at all for the next two days. You go about your business, but don’t see much of her at all. When your paths do cross, she doesn’t do anything remotely at her energy level, aside from a halfhearted wave when she sees you in the halls or in class. 

You’re a little shocked when you realize you’re considering _texting her first_ , to make sure she’s okay. But then you remember how irritating it is to talk to anybody, Leijon especially, and you discard the idea, feeling slightly foolish for even considering it.

Finally, on the third day, Meulin doesn’t show up to class at all, and you can’t contain your curiosity any longer. After your classes are done for the day, you head down to the cafeteria and sit down at a booth, pulling out your phone.

causticGeneralization [CG] began pestering aberrantChatter [AC]. 

CG: Meulin?

She responds slowly, more so than you’d expected.

AC:ヽ(=^･ω･^=)丿HIYA, KANKRI!  
AC: :;(∩´﹏`∩);: IS EFURRYTHING GOING OKAY?  
CG: I was g9ing t9 ask the same 9f y9u.  
AC: ∑(;°Д°)  
CG: What?  
AC: L(・o・)」WELL, SLAP A TAIL ON MY ASS AND CALL ME A CAT!  
EC: (-‿◦☀) KANKRI VANTAS ASKED HOW I WAS!  
CG: ...  
EC: ((´д｀)) SORRY. DIDN’T MEAN TO BE MEAN.

You’re surprised. Meulin’s voice contains more venom than you’d expected. You’ve never heard anything but saccharine sweetness from her before. You hope she’s not mad at you. That’s always annoying.

CG: I’ll admit, I was expecting a slightly less fr9sty resp9nse.  
AC: (✖╭╮✖) I’M SORRY…  
AC: (´∩｀。) I’VE...HAD A BAD DAY.  
CG: My c9nd9lences.  
AC: (^・ω・^ ) THANKS.  
AC: ( ≧Д≦)IT’S JUST...DOESN’T IT JUST F33L LIKE NO ONE REALLY CARES SOMETIMES?  
AC: (╯︵╰,) LIKE, MEW’RE JUST KIND OF...THERE.  
AC: ( ≧Д≦) AND PEOPLE MIGHT TALK TO MEW AND STUFF…  
AC: (´＿｀。) BUT IF MEW’RE F33LING BAD, NOPAWDY STEPS UP TO ASK IF EFURRYTHING IS ALL RIGHT.  
AC: ( ˘ ³˘)♥ AND THEN THERE’S SOMEPAWDY WHO MEW REALLY WANT TO TALK TO…  
AC:（=；_・=）BUT THEY DON’T CARE EITHER.

Uh oh.

CG: Are y9u...talking a69ut any9ne in particular?  
AC:(▰˘︹˘▰) NO. OF COURSE NOT.  
AC: (=T＿T=) I’M JUST BABBLING ON LIKE THE RETARD THAT I AM.  
CG: Wh9 said y9u were a retard?  
CG: That’s an 9ffensive w9rd, y9u kn9w.  
AC: ((´д｀)) DON’T EVEN PRETEND, KANKRI.  
AC: ( ´△｀) I KNOW MEW THINK I’M REALLY DUMB AND ANNOYING.  
AC: (*´ω｀) PLUS, I HAVE ADHD. SO, TECHNICALLY, I _AM_ RETARDED.

Shit. Shit. Now she expects you to say something comforting. What do you do?! 

CG: I never said that.  
AC: ( ；´Д｀) WELL, OF COURSE MEW NEVER _SAID_ IT.  
CG: D9n’t 6e ridicul9us, Meulin.  
CG: Being sad is n9 way to s9lve pr96lems.  
AC: ( ≧Д≦) GEE, THANKS.  
CG: N9! I mean…  
CG: Y9u’re n9t retarded.  
CG: Trust me, I kn9w what I’m talking a69ut.  
AC: (ﾟﾍﾟ) YOU...DO?  
CG: Y9u’re talking t9 the *king* 9f this field.  
CG: As far as “retarded” g9es, y9u’re n9t there, 6elieve me.  
AC: (⁎˃ᆺ˂) WELL, I GUESS I SHOULD TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT, HUH?  
CG: I ap9l9gize. I’m terrible at…  
CG: Pe9ple.  
AC: (=^-ω-^=) T33 H33!  
AC: (^・ω・^ ) THANKS, KANKRI.

As you reread your text conversation, you realize the impossible has happened: You’ve made Meulin feel better without saying anything of any weight. And you’re feeling a little better, too. Annoying or no, you don’t like it when people sulk. It bothers you. And Leijon is so happy all the time, it just doesn’t seem right to have her down.

AC: (*≧ω≦) OOPS! I HAVE TO GO NOW, KURLOZ IS YELLING AT ME.  
AC: ＼(^▽^) SAYONARA!  
CG: Until next time.

aberrantChatter [AC] ceased pestering causticGeneralization [CG].

You put down your phone, feeling a little self conscious. It didn’t occur to you until after you’d typed it that your words might have implied you wanted to talk to Meulin again. 

Oh well, who are you kidding. You already know that you’ll have to respond to those olive-green messages again. You don’t have to be a soothsayer to know that the chatty cat girl will text you in the near future.

You pull yourself up from the cafeteria table and start when you realize there’s no one there. A cook stares at you from behind a serving tray. Glancing out the window, you yelp when you realize that the sun is low in the sky. You live 15 minutes away, so if you don’t leave soon, you’ll have to walk in the dark. Gathering your stuff quickly, you scramble out the door. 

The walk home is colder than you’re dressed for, and your thin fingers tremble uncontrollably. Sheesh. How long did you dawdle when you were responding to Meulin’s texts? The conversation seemed so short. Maybe you just left class later than you thought. 

There’s a park you pass by when you walk home, with a large playground for children and usually a collection of parents with their protege on a nice day. Hardly anyone is there now, and for good reason--the metal slide is slicked with frost. You pass by a girl on a bench, heavily bundled with a scarf, gloves, pom-pom hat, fur boots...the works. _Lucky._

As you pass by, the girl lifts her gaze to squint at you in the dusk, and then slides her scarf down from her mouth, revealing the rest of her visage. 

Guess who.

“Hi, Kankri,” she says. But unusually, her voice lacks its usual enthusiasm, and is instead flat and halfhearted.

“Oh, hello,” you reply. “It’s late, shouldn’t you be home?” It’s 30 degrees and almost dark out. Despite your irritation of being around Meulin in general, you are slightly curious as to why she’s out so late, when she could be in her warm apartment with a loving boyfriend. 

Meulin shrugs. “Kurloz and I...well, we had a fight.” She looks away. “I’d rather not be around him when he’s angry.”

Something inside of you clenches like a fist. You want to say something encouraging, but all that comes out is “He’ll forgive you.”

Meulin meets your eyes again, and the dull green is barely visible in the evening gloom. She smiles, but it’s lopsided and slightly weary. When she speaks, she sounds like she’s just saying it to humor you. “Sure, Kankri.” 

She pauses and licks her cracked lips, like she’s wishing for chapstick. Almost to herself: “I’ll go back once he’s asleep. Hopefully, he’ll have forgiven me then.”

You don’t want to get involved in this, but at the same time, there’s no way you can just leave Meulin in the twilight by herself, sitting on a half-frozen bench in an abandoned park. You seat yourself on the bench, leaving a good amount of space next to you. Meulin doesn’t seem to mind your awkward, prudish behavior. On another day, she probably would have been jumping to sit within four feet of you, but now she barely reacts. 

There’s nothing comfy about your situation. The bench is cold and there’s a chill air blowing, and you’re still uncomfortable about being so close to a girl that you don’t even like. Luckily, Meulin doesn’t make things worse, for once. You two simply sit there in silence.

Finally, when your rear end (and the rest of you) can’t take the cold any more and you’re trying to figure out how to get up politely, Meulin turns to you. Smiling faintly, she unwinds her scarf from around her neck and offers it to you.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say instantly, out of awkwardness, even though your hands scream for something warm to wrap themselves in.

Meulin smiles, a little wider this time. “Don’t even pretend, Kankri. I can see you shivering.”

_No, that’s...not why I don’t want it._

Before you can react, Meulin leans over and wraps the scarf around your neck. You’re paralyzed with more than the cold. Finally, she tucks it around itself, and you can feel her knit gloves brush your chin. You flinch.

Meulin giggles. “Oh, settle down. I’m not even touching you with my skin.” Then she hesitates, the smile wavering as she looks at you. 

You swallow. You suppose you should thank her, but your vocal cords are frozen and your mind is blank. Meulin’s hand is slipping out of its glove and you can’t breathe. You need to get up and leave _right now._

Her hand touches yours and you jolt upward, stumbling from your stiff limbs, almost falling.

The cat girl looks more than hurt, but you don’t care because Christ, you did not intend her to take it that way at all. Why did she have to go and…make your simple act of kindness into something else? You didn’t mean it like that! You didn’t mean...you don’t…

Meulin’s face is going red, as is yours. And now you are, of all things, feeling guilty. Because you’ve hurt her feelings, haven’t you? Even though it’s her fault, you still feel bad!

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Kankri,” she gets out, looking at the ground. “I forgot about your trigger.”

Meulin has a knack for getting exactly the wrong answer in a crucial situation. Your trigger is, at once, exactly the right and wrong reason for your actions. But you can’t tell her that. Damn social laws.

You don’t say anything, but your look probably conveys your feelings, because Meulin’s face falls even further. She doesn’t respond, but you have a feeling she’s thinking it over.

“Sorry,” she repeats, in a small voice.

And even you, wallowing in all your egotistical glory, realize at this moment that there is something twisted and wrong about Meulin apologizing to you right now, especially when she’s obviously in a slump. Maybe it’s the way her eyes dart down, flinching when you haven’t touched her, like she’s expecting you to shout.

Well, you weren’t going to do anything at all, but you pull yourself together enough to walk over and you dwarf her when you sit back on the bench again. Moving your numb fingers, you reach into your pocket and pull out your Iphone, attached to a pair of white earbuds. Wordlessly, you hand her one earbud.

Meulin looks a little confused, but takes the earbud anyway. You slide the other into your right ear and side through your playlists until you find a happy selection, suited for a warm night by a fireside.

You’re still a foot away from each other, and you’re still cold, but you stay out there with Meulin for at least another 45 minutes, silently listening to indie rock and the Beatles and 20’s swing. 

Finally, Meulin gets up, handing you the earbud.

“Thank you, Kankri,” she says, and there’s genuine gratitude in her voice this time. She doesn’t offer to walk you home, or lend you gloves; instead she walks off into the darkness without a look back.

But she doesn’t take the scarf.

You get home safely, and when you swaddle yourself in bed in your apartment, you feel a small warmth in your shriveled heart, like you’ve done the right thing.


	7. Cat Got Your Tongue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: kankri ranting in character ~~for the first time~~ if you can't handle that...sorry to break it to you, but you shouldn't be reading a fanfiction about kankri vantas.  
>     
> EDIT: i finally got the pesterchum fonts figured out! yay! 
> 
>  
> 
>   
> also, [Geta](http://thegetawaypart.tumblr.com/) did this amazing fanart!

When you wake up in the morning, everything seems a little brighter for some stupid reason. Oh wait--it’s just clear and cold outside, harsh light sunlight streaming through the window with the curtains that are, for some reason, not tightly drawn over the glass. 

You stumble over to it--normally, you don’t open them at all--and peek outside. Frost coats everything, a layer of not-quite-there snow dusting your porch and salt sprinkling the road. 

As joyless as you are, this makes you smile slightly. Hey, you like the winter. It’s a good excuse to stay inside. And another excuse to go shopping. Yay, corporate malls and consumer demand gone mad!

As you’re contemplating the weather, you remember that it’s a Saturday. Good. _This boy’s going back to sleep._

You crawl back into bed and start to drift off, aided by the blackout curtains now drawn over the cold December morning. 

But just as you’re in that twilight area between sleeping and waking, your phone buzzes from its cradle in the corner. You swear and pull your pillow over your face, hoping it’s just an email or something.

No dice. It buzzes again, more insistent. You curse loudly and flip over, blindly grabbing for your phone until your cold hand closes over the lukewarm metal. Hauling it up, you hold it inches above your squinted gaze.

As you’re holding it, bleary-eyed, it chimes again. And then again. 

**Facebook**  
You have 3 new messages. 

**Facebook**  
Aranea Serket posted on your timeline: “Wow Kankri! Congrats! 8)”

 **Facebook**  
Cronus Ampora posted on your timeline: “I CANT STOP LAUGHIN”

 **Facebook**  
Mituna Captor posted on your timeline: “H4H4H4 7H3 70S3R5 4R3 T0G3TH3R”

What...what’s this? A knot of fear imbeds itself in your stomach, and you quickly slide the bar to unlock your phone. After jabbing your passcode in, your heart pounding all of a sudden, you check Facebook.

What you find is, quite possibly, the worst surprise you’ve ever received. 

**Kankri Vantas is now in a Relationship with Meulin Leijon.  
Today**

You’re sure your eyes have turned to trigger signs, and your feel the blood drain from your face so quickly you think you’re going to pass out. 

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

Who the hell would have done this? It wasn’t you, that’s for sure--you almost never go onto Facebook, and you would NEVER say something like this, even if it was true. 

Since the fact is obviously false...this must be some sort of sick joke. Someone must have seen you two on the bench last night. Or something??? You thought that almost no one had passed you, since it was 19 degrees and dusk. 

This is exactly the kind of thing you feared would happen. Word travels really fucking fast. 

Tumbling out of bed, you sprint into the kitchen, grab your laptop, and log into Facebook at 299, 792,458 m/s. Going to your profile as fast as humanly possible--you’re sure the keys are going to be burned off your keyboard, you’re typing so fast--you write a status:

 **Kankri Vantas**  
WH9 WAS RESP9NSI6LE F9R THIS???????????

Then you go and edit your relationship status so that it’s no longer displaying that you and the Leijon girl are together. You’ll be laughed at, of course, but the major damage has been fixed. You can delete their comments and pretend that nothing happened.

So much for a slow morning. Your heartbeat is racing, adrenaline pumping through your veins like you got a shot. Your breathing is sped up, and your--your stomach doesn’t feel so good--

You slap your hands over your mouth and run to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet like you’ve got the stomach flu. 

Sweating and shaking, kneeling there for a few minutes, you wonder what you did to deserve this kind of cruelty. You’ve been tolerating the Leijon girl, haven’t you? You helped her out yesterday! Whose idea of a sick joke was to give you a panic attack? 

Because that’s what it is, a panic attack. You can already feel yourself floating in and out of partial awareness, losing your touch with your senses. This hasn’t happened in a while. Normally, you’re drugged on prescription pills when something gives you this bad of a scare. Hitting you early in the morning was a good idea, on the enemy’s part. Gives you a fatal disadvantage.

Finally, after gagging a couple more times, you flush the toilet and wash your face with water cold as a slap in the face. You catch sight of your blue eyes in the mirror, underlined with dark bags, and almost lose your nerve again.

When you go back to your timeline, someone’s responded to your status:

 **Kurloz Makara**  
:o)

You stop dead in your tracks. 

This situation literally just got a hundred times worse. 

**Kankri Vantas**  
Kurl9z, s9me69dy hacked int9 my Face699k acc9unt. 6elieve me, I have d9ne *n9thing* with y9ur girlfriend.

It takes a minute or two of frantic refreshing to see his reply, but when you do see it, you gulp nervously.

 **Kurloz Makara**  
FOR YOUR SAKE...I HOPE YOU’RE RIGHT.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck!_

Of all the people you had to get in trouble with, it had to be Kurloz _fucking_ Makara! The guy’s supposedly in a secret cult that worships clowns or something. And that sounds funny, but when they’re doing fucking rituals and getting stoned out of their minds...you’ve heard that shit goes _down._

Anyway, they’re far too dangerous for you to have anything to do with them. You’ve no interest in juggalos and bloodletting. Your only goal is to stay as far away from them as possible, and engaging as little interaction as you can.

When you’ve refreshed the page again, feeling like you’re going to pass out, you see your message symbol display a small red 1 bubble. Curious despite your utter horror, you click on it.

 **Meenah Piexes**  
38)

 **You**  
MEENAH!!!!!! 

**Meenah Piexes**  
oh stop yer whalin  
everyone knew it was gonna happen anyway 

**You**  
MEENAH, THIS IS EXTREMELY TRIGGERING! I INSIST THAT Y9U INF9RM ME WH9 HACKED INT9 MY FACE699K ACC9UNT!

 **Meenah Piexes**  
dont kno

 **You**  
D9N’T LIE!

 **Meenah Piexes**  
no im searious  
i have no idea  
shore was funny tho

You don’t believe her, not for a second. Meenah wouldn’t give you the time of day if all the watches in the world were broken. She must still be trying to get a rise out of you.

 **You**  
MEENAH, I’VE ALREADY HAD A PANIC ATTACK AND AM HYPERVENTILATING SEVERELY AT THIS VERY M9MENT. ISN’T IT EN9UGH THAT Y9U’VE EM6ARRASSED ME T9 THE P9INT 9F PHYSICAL SICKNESS?

 **You**  
AND WHAT DID MEULIN D9 T9 DESERVE THIS KIND 9F M9CKERY AT Y9UR HANDS? SURELY SHE HAS D9NE N9THING T9 Y9U T9 MERIT “SHIPPING” HER WITH ME!

 **Meenah Piexes**  
whale whale whale  
looks like the insufferable aint so shellfish after all

 **You**  
IT’S N9T LIKE THAT!  
I SIMPLY FEEL THAT THE GIRL HAS 6EEN THR9UGH EN9UGH, AND D9ESN’T DESERVE ANY M9RE RIDICULE, IS ALL.

 **You**  
IS IT S9 WR9NG F9R ME T9 C9NSIDER THE WELL6EING 9F A FELL9W HUMAN 6EING?

 **Meenah Piexes**  
38D

You think you’re going to vomit again.

Reading over your text makes your stomach seriously uneasy. You are Kankri Vantas, famous for not giving a shit about anyone. Ever. 

_What happened?_

You log out of Facebook and collapse on your bed, throwing your pillow against the wall and pretending it’s a brick at Meenah’s head. Then you rake your nails down your arm until the skin starts to flake white.

Absurdly, the first person that comes to your mind to text is Leijon. But you really can’t talk to her now, really you can’t.

causticGeneralization  [CG]  began pestering aberrantChatter [AC]. 

CG: Please tell me y9u didn’t see any 9f that.

So apparently, you’re a masochist now.

AC: (?=・・=)   
CG: *9h thank g9d.*  
AC: (ﾟﾍﾟ) OH, MEW MEAN THE FACEBOOK SILLINESS?  
AC: 〜(￣▽￣〜) T33 H33! SO IT BOTHERED MEW?  
CG: Tell me y9u’re j9king.  
AC: (。ヘ°) UHH...NO?  
AC: (´｀;) ？JUST CURIOUS.  
CG: Well, us tw9 96vi9usly aren’t in a relati9nship 9f any kind whats9ever. And I d9n’t kn9w if y9u can tell, 6ut I’m “the Insuffera6le”. I get triggered. Remem6er? (These “triggerings” are due t9 my c9hesive list 9f psych9l9gical dis9rders: PDD-N9S, anxiety, depressi9n, mild bip9lar dis9rder, mild 9CD Dis9rder, and any 9ther undiagn9sed/9therwise unspecified psych9l9gical tr9u6les. Please let me kn9w if any 9f this triggers y9u in any way, and I will d9 my utm9st to tag them in the future.) Als9, we aren’t in a relati9nship, which is plain f9r every9ne t9 see.  
CG: Added t9 all 9f this, many pe9ple, especially 9f 9ur age gr9up, take things the wr9ng way in many different scenari9s. A relati9nship status appearing 9n my Face699k timeline with n9 apparent warning? Even if 69th 9f us denied it, n969dy w9uld 6elieve us. (I apl9l9gize if this is rude, 6ut y9u and I are n9t the m9st seri9usly-taken mem6ers 9f s9ciety.) And, 9f c9urse, it’s especially awkward 6ecause neither 9f us are, well, em9ti9nally invested in such a (hyp9thetical, 9f c9urse) affair. Y9u have a 69yfriend! N9t t9 menti9n--  
AC: (^・ω・^ ) KANKRI?  
CG: Yes?  
AC: (=｀ω´=) YOU TALK A LOT WHEN YOU’RE FLUSTERED.

You wipe the sweat off your brow almost subconsciously and realize how hot you are all of a sudden. Fucking shit. There’s a wall of red text on your phone. It’s been a while since you’ve gone off the rails like that.

How did Meulin know? She’s right, you’re infamous for going on rants, especially when you’re triggered. And since you get triggered a lot, it happens all the time. But it’s been a while since you've started babbling almost incoherently, certainly before you started talking to her.

CG: I ap9l9gize. I’m a little…  
AC: (￣ω￣) TRIGGERED?  
CG: Y9u’re putting the w9rds in my m9uth.  
CG: H9wever, that 9pti9n is pr96a6ly infinitely m9re prefera6le than listening t9 me 6la66er 9n and 9n.  
AC: (=^-ω-^=) WELL, I THINK IT’S KIND OF CUTE, IF MEW REALLY WANT TO KNOW!  
AC: (^._.^) BUT THAT’S PURROBABLY THE LAST THING MEW WANT TO HEAR RIGHT NOW, HUH? 

She...what?

You stare past your tiny phone screen, feeling your face heat up even more. _I THINK IT’S KIND OF CUTE, IF MEW REALLY WANT TO KNOW._

You’re...you’re...out of words. Yes! The Insufferable is silenced, so to speak. You don’t know what to say.

AC: ＼(°o°；) YEAH...SORRY. DID I SCARE MEW OFF?  
AC: ( ´△｀) SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN TO TRIGGER MEW. 

Jesus. You glance at the time and see that you received her message nine minutes ago. In that time, you had apparently been trying to come up with an appropriate response. Almost ten minutes later, you’ve sweated your t-shirt damp, and you still haven’t replied to Meulin’s offhanded...compliment.

_Cat got your tongue?_

CG: I’m still here. My c9nd9lences, I g9t a little...nerv9us.  
AC: (・∀・) IT’S OKAY!  
AC: ( ≧Д≦) LISTEN, DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE WHOLE FACEBOOK THING, OKAY?  
AC: (=^･^=) IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL. IT SHOULDN’T HAVE MADE YOU SCARED.  
AC: (´Д` ) NOW I FEEL BAD!  
CG: There’s n9 use in guilt. It wasn’t like it was y9ur fault.  
AC: (´^｀) YEAH.  
AC: (=^･^=) WELL, WE CAN JUST PUT IT BEHIND US!  
AC: (‘A`) IF IT MADE YOU FEEL BAD, I’M SURE THE PERSON FEELS BAD.  
CG: I hate t9 say it, but that’s unlikely.  
AC: ( ≧Д≦) OH, DON’T BE SUCH A SOURPUSS! YOU NEVER KNOW.  
AC: (^･o･^)ﾉ” ANYWAY, I HAVE A DRAWING TO FINISH! CATCH YOU LATER!

aberrantChatter [AC] ceased pestering causticGeneralization [CG].

causticGeneralization [CG] began pestering aberrantChatter [AC]. 

CG: Meulin, I--  
CG: 9h, never mind.

causticGeneralization [CG] ceased pestering aberrantChatter [AC].


	8. Panic Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i get a kick out of typing karkat and kankri's pesterlogs...so many "CG"s. (this chapter is a little incoherent in places, btw. i really tried to channel the awful feeling of a panic attack.)

The day passes by in a slow haze. You soak in the bathtub for approximately four hours, far after the water loses its warmth, to the point where you ran out of hot water to refill it. It calms you to read on your Kindle--dull literature like your college textbook, War and Peace, and Complacency of the Learned. By the time you drain the water, your pale skin is red as your freshly-washed sweater, and you feel considerably better.

Meulin doesn’t text you for the rest of the day. But, after the earlier fiasco, you don’t mind in the least. You still can’t believe what went on in your head, almost pestering her back after she had logged out. You’d rather not think about it.

However, this pattern of silence continues on through the next few days, with Meulin abruptly cutting out of your life. Ignoring you? Maybe. But you aren’t about to be the first to make a move, because you think that you could use a break from the cat girl and the confusion she makes you feel. Irritation, you mean. Aggression. Vexation. Bile. Whatever synonym you care to use.

It take you a day or two to adjust to the lack of olive green text messages dotting your phone’s lock screen, but it comes as a slight relief--no stress, no sweaty palms. Life is back to normal now, and although it was a slightly interesting twist to have someone pay attention to you, you don’t mind at all, really. Especially since somebody obviously put one too many puzzle pieces together for your liking, considering the whole Facebook catastrophe.

It’s like the weather finally snapped out of the November haze and realized that it’s the middle of December, and plummeted the temperature overnight. It’s cold as jotun balls and icy enough to make you stumble on the road when you walk, bundled in a knitted black scarf and matching gloves knitted by everyone’s favorite Maryam. She practically forced them on you in class one day, even after your claims of not needing anything, but you’re a little pleased, after all.

You do get a card from Karkat in California, with a picture of him and…his new troll? Christ. You’d think he’d have learned from the first time. All the same, she’s cute--tiny and adorned with a blue hat that makes her horns look like cat ears, both of them giggling in the warm Cali-December sun. You know that he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, so it’s actually fairly considerate of him to send you a card, 

You wonder why people get attached to things that they’re just going to lose.

One frigid night, glancing out at the Christmas lights speckling the porches of the neighborhood, you briefly feel lonely. But not just any kind of lonely. It’s bizarre. You crave physical contact. Nothing salacious, simply the touch of a hand on yours. But it’s enough to freeze you up. 

Never, not once, have you ever wanted to touch somebody. (Well...you’re a horny bastard, after all. But not like that.) Never have you coveted the sensation of a head on your shoulder or the clasp of a hand. And you are now.

Thankfully, it doesn’t last: the feeling passes after a frightening several seconds, and you wipe your palms on your pants, glad that it’s over.

The next day, you’re astonished to find that Christmas is in a week. Well then, time to wait for the holiday specials on TV. Do you owe anybody presents? No, you don’t think so. Although you wouldn’t mind buying yourself some more Doctor Who collector’s memorabilia.

Aww, who are you kidding. You’ve only got to click your fingers before your parents send you a juicy check in the mail. You don’t really want anything, as much as you loath to admit it. Nothing at all except for a drug-and-disorder-free life. And that’s not happening.

When walking home about two weeks after Meulin stopped texting you, you round the corner to your apartment, unlock the door, and trip over a rectangular box lying surreptitiously in wait on your doorstep. You land on your knees and curse loudly enough that a mother crossing the street with two kids gives you an offended look.

Groaning, you pull yourself to your feet. Ugh. Why’s there a package for you anyway? You haven’t ordered anything recently online. Unless it’s your medication doses. You do believe you’re running low on your PDD pills. 

You take one look at the wrapping and...are confused? The paper is olive green, with reflective red pieces catching the light. Oh. That’s right, it’s around the holiday season. This is a present, then. But from whom? 

Skipping inside to keep your hands from trembling--from excitement or cold, you’re not sure which--you turn the box over and over, but there’s no label, or anything. You step inside and close the door, your heart fluttering against your will.

All right, you’ll admit it. Your heart jumps for a moment, and you see sable hair and a big white grin in the forefront of your mind. Delicate, painted lips parting hesitantly. _I got this for you, Kankri. Is that mistletoe I see?_

You’re actually disgusted with yourself. “Latula was my high school crush,” you tell yourself sternly, out loud to cement the words in your mind. “She has a boyfriend, you obnoxious egotist.”

_Yeah, a boyfriend who had a freaking stroke. She should just ditch Captor already, everyone knows he’s too far gone._

You wish you were listening to someone else’s words, but you really did think that. You cannot believe how insensitive and awful that thought was. If you had read that online, you’d plunge straight into one of your “triggered” rants and shame them, but it’s all you can do as it is to not glance at the knife rack.

You can’t lecture yourself. Words don’t work very well internally, you’ve tried them.

Your attention goes back to the box. Well, it’s not like it’s going to be a bomb. You plunk yourself down on the couch and tear off the wrapping paper like a child, relishing the slight euphoria you get from throwing the discarded paper across the room, feeling better for the first time in days.

Under the paper there’s a light brown cardboard box. It’s still unmarked, but there’s lines of clear packing tape sealing it shut. Was it really necessary to use that much friggin’ tape? There’s got to be at least three layers there. Grumbling now, you get a steak knife and slice open the package and--

A sweater. There’s a black sweater in the box. Is it from Porrim? No, it’s sloppy and badly stitched, with some weird red shape on the front, like a sideways 69.

Hang on...is that a sex symbol?!

You drop the sweater like it’s made of coals and you can feel your face light on fire. There’s a card on top of the offending piece of crocheted horror--it’s bright pink with sparkles and paper, pop-up ornaments. And you already know who it’s from before you see the scribbly, olive green note on the inside.

_Dear Kankri,_

_Merry almost-Christmas! I know your birthday is sometime in December, even though you wouldn’t tell me when. Okay, maybe it was January. Am I way off? Probably :333 Anyways, this is for you, so you don’t have to wear that silly red sweater all the time. (It’s a Cancer symbol, you sick-minded perv! X3)_

_Anyways! Kurloz and I are going to a Christmas party on the 25th and I am formally inviting you! It’s probs been, like, ten years since you’ve been invited somewhere, huh? Poor lonely boy. Well, now you can say you have a party to go to on Christmas! XD_

_Well, I can already tell that you’re just gonna throw this card away, most likely in disgust. So I’m politely letting you know that you’re coming to this shindig, whether you like it or not. It’s unavoidable!~_

_See you around!_

_< 3 Meulin _

_P.S. You know, you could try texting me first. ;)_

You’re not sure how long you sit there in shock. The sweater is soft and warm under your stony fingers, but the red “Cancer symbol” and the card in general is giving you the absolute worst second-hand embarrassment. 

Eventually, you organize your thoughts into a somewhat cohesive list.

1\. Your birthday is in two days.  
2\. A Cancer symbol? Really????? Obvious much, Meulin?  
3\. That was a heart.  
4\. It has been eleven and a half years since you’ve been invited to a party.  
5\. Of course you were going to throw the card away. It has a fucking CAT MEME on it, for god’s sake.  
6\. She signed it with a heart.  
7\. Why didn’t you text her first? Maybe if you had, this wouldn’t have happened!  
8\. Leijon signed her fucking ugly pink Christmas card with a chatspeak heart.  
9\. A heart.  
10\. Meulin Leijon has a crush on you.  
11\. You--

You do not like Meulin Leijon back.

Well, that’s obvious. Incredibly obvious. Your pulse is going a thousand miles an hour. You’re as embarrassed as if she had told you in person. Okay. So Leijon has a crush on you. Okay. So you think she’s the most aggravating person you’ve ever met. You most definitely do not like her back.

You take a deep breath, inhaling through your nose, and hold it, feeling your blood rush through your ears. You hold it until you feel like you’re going to pass out, and exhale through your mouth slowly, forcing all the breath out of your lungs. 

You do not like Meulin Leijon back. Hell, you can’t even be around her for more than a few minutes without starting to get annoyed. And anyway, it doesn’t make one mote of difference whether you like her back, even though it’s supremely obvious that you don’t. Why would you like her? God, there’s nothing remotely attractive about her in any way, shape, or form.

What you want to know is how she managed to figure you out so exactly. The messages in the card were practically timed with your thought processes. 

The phrase you almost told her last time you talked flashes into your mind.

_Meulin, I need y9u t9 st9p acting like y9u care, 6ecause it is 6ec9ming a severe impairment t9 my day-t9-day functi9ning._

Apparently, even the shipper cat girl can be cruel. You wonder if she’s actually against you, or if there’s even a chemical in her brain that produces spite. There’s a pit in your stomach that suggests she’s being sincere. It makes you angry just thinking about it. 

You crush the card in your fist and are about to throw it across the room when you stop. You glance at it again: still a lurid shade of pink, except it’s a wad of cardstock now. 

You uncrumple the card and stare at it. The friendly, messy text seems to be laughing at you, the emoticons’ expressions mocking. _You know, you could try texting me first. ;)_

No. Absolutely not. Meulin has taken this too far. She...She thinks you like her. It hurts you to say it to yourself. Okay. So somewhere in your red-and-green-text logs, you came across as...interested.

But why? You don’t understand. Meulin is annoying, and she keeps dumping piles of emotional shit on you that you have to act sympathetic about, otherwise you’ll break your facade. Your facade of giving a single fuck. You did it to get attention, but you’re sorely regretting that decision now, because Meulin’s attention is far more trouble than it’s worth. But why do you keep talking to her? Why haven’t you just ditched her already?

It hits you like a bolt of lightning as you’re ruminating, flopped onto the couch in your relaxation room. You haven’t ditched her because she made you feel bad. When you met her sitting outside in the frozen air, when she so casually talked about her boyfriend, for a moment you almost felt...empathy. You related to her. Not, of course, that you had an argument with your boyfriend, because you don’t have a boyfriend. Duh. But that sense of being so alone. It emanated off of her. 

It makes you shudder to think about it, think about this “empathy” that you are generating. If only you had someone to ask about people. Like a therapist. (Ha! That’s a joke.)

You glance at the photo of Karkat and the smiling troll on the coffee table and realize that your brother may be able to help you. But the price is having to talk to him. You hate talking to Karkat. 19 and pathetic, even by your standards. 

Once, while Karkat was still living with your parents and you had just moved to Washington, Karkat had a pet troll. This troll, you think her name was Terezi, was disturbingly human--too much like a middle-school girl for your standards--but Karkat adored her. But when Karkat was accepted into Running Start, he left her with a friend of his, Gamzee something-or-other, because he didn’t have the resources (read: didn’t want to accept his parent’s help) to care for him and his troll. You didn’t approve, but Karkat didn’t care.

Well, that troll died of neglect when Karkat came back to check on her. And you realize with a start that you still remember the rage in Karkat’s voice when he called you, the tears streaming down his face as he cradled Terezi’s broken body. He’s never been the same since.

 _Get over it,_ you told him. _It’s just an animal. You’ll live._

He blocked you on Pesterchum for a whole five months, and you two had never been particularly close to begin with. 

Karkat’s an over-sensitive, short-tempered--and short-statured, for that matter--child in a turtleneck. You can hardly stand talking to the guy.

causticGeneralization [CG]  began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG].

CG: Hell9, Karkat. It’s 6een a while. I ap9l9gize, but I have a pressing questi9n that I must ask y9u.

Here goes nothing.

CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT, KANKRI? I’M A LITTLE BUSY, YOU KNOW, HAVING A JOB.  
CG: Again, I ap9l9gize pr9fusely f9r having distur6ed y9ur m9netary duties. I merely have a questi9n about a pers9n. Y9u were always kn9wledgeable ab6ut that s9rt 9f thing.   
CG: YOU, WANTING TO KNOW ABOUT PEOPLE? THAT’S A FIRST.   
CG: It’s a69ut...a girl.

Your throat tightens involuntarily as you type the words. Look at how low you’ve sunk. Maybe Meulin is out to get you after all.

CG: WELL, BUTTER MY ASS AND CALL ME A BISCUIT. KANKRI VANTAS, ACTUALLY TRYING TO GET *DATING ADVICE* FROM HIS LITTLE BROTHER?  
CG: I w9uld appreciate it if y9u w9uld sh9w a little m9re c9mpassi9n, Karkat. N9t every69dy is as privileged as y9u, to have a n9rmal s9cial life.  
CG: ALL RIGHT, SPILL THE BEANS, YOU LOVESICK SHITSTAIN. WHO IS IT?

_Lovestick shitstain._ Karkat always knows exactly what to say. 

CG: Wh9 she is n9ne of y9ur c9ncern. I merely wish to kn9w h9w to...ah…*flirt*.

You think you’re going to be sick all over the coffee table. Why did you just say that? You’ve just given Karkat free rein to mock you mercilessly! Holy fuck. Holy fuck. 

Okay, deep breaths. _Keep your facade on, Insufferable._

CG: WELL, YOU COULD TRY, YOU KNOW, SHOWING COMPASSION. CG: Very funny.   
CG: I’M SERIOUS, ASSHOLE! YOU CAN’T GET ANYONE TO LIKE YOU UNLESS YOU GIVE HALF A SHIT ABOUT THEM. 

No! This is exactly what you didn’t want to hear! 

CG: 6ut…

CG: NO BUTS! IF YOU WANT TO LEARN HOW TO FLIRT, YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO BE NICE TO THE GODDAMN CHICK FIRST. I SUSPECT YOUR PROBLEM ISN’T FLIRTING, ANYWAY, BUT JUST LEARNING HOW TO TALK ABOUT SOMEONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF.

_Ohshitohshitohshit he said girlfriend nonononono I think I’m going to be sick_

CG: Hmmm. Fascinating.  
CG: WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR ADVICE IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LISTEN? SHE’S A PERSON WITH FEELINGS YOU RAVING DOUCHE.  
CG: …  
CG: FINE. GO FUCK YOURSELF. GOOD LUCK GETTING A GIRLFRIEND WHEN YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE. WHY EVEN TRY? YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY A GODDAMN ROBOT.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering causticGeneralization  [CG].

You run into the kitchen and gag into the sink. Luckily, you don’t lose your breakfast, but you’ve gone cold and sweaty and you’re breathing at a rapid pace. Your stomach roils in anguish. You’ve been less and less physically stable lately at times of great stress. Panic attack? Most likely. 

_Anxiety: a nervous disorder characterized by a state of excessive uneasiness and apprehension, typically with compulsive behavior or panic attacks. Symptoms include but are not limited to accelerated heart rate, shortness of breath, nausea, sweating, and trembling._

Look at you. You stare at your faint reflection in the marble counter. Even by the pale stone’s standards, you’re sickly pallid and skinny. Your sharp chin is hidden by the turtleneck of your sweater, your icy blue eyes barely visible, shaking, clammy hands slipping on the slick counter. 

What an absolute mess you are. Reduced to a nervous wreck just talking about Leijon. 

You are really going to kill that girl at the Christmas party. 


	9. Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont have an excuse for not updating, guys. sorry.

The knocking startles you out of your lethargic reverie. Actually, that’s a lie. You’d like to think you were lying around without a care in the world. Actually, you’re frantically tucking your turtleneck into your pants, running your hands through your hair, and generally trying to pretend you aren’t suddenly concerned with what you look like. 

You walk as fast as you can towards the door and try to open it as little like a desperate fucker as possible. And Meulin is there, as promised. Only, she looks...very different.

Her messy black hair is glossy and curled, brushing the white sash tied around her waist. Her olive green strapless dress is flecked with silver sequins, and it’s not too short, going to past her knees. But the...chest area…

This is Meulin fucking Leijon, catgirl shipper extraordinaire. Who barged into your house late at night high as fuck. Who never leaves you alone. Who guessed your birthday, who’s taking you to the first party you can remember going to since elementary school, and who also, currently, looks really, really hot.

You first fuck up by trying to talk while staring at the wrong place. Then, when she giggles, you jolt upwards, feeling blood rush to your cheeks when she winks at you.

“Hiya, Kankri!” she chirps. “Merry Christmas!” She pushes past you without further comment, making you flinch like a middle school girl when her arm brushes yours. You quickly close the door behind you two, acutely aware of what that could imply to onlookers. Not, of course, that there are any. Of course not. That would just be silly.

“Kurloz wanted to go by himself,” she says as she turns back towards you, her black heels clicking on the plastic floor. “Lucky for me I have you, huh?” She glances at your turtleneck and clucks, shaking her head. “But you’re gonna need to dress better. I can’t take you anywhere looking like you’re ready to marathon a nine-season show at home alone.”

Familiar annoyance wells up in you, but it’s quickly repressed when she grabs your arm, and you’re trying to remember how to breathe again. She drags you to your room and immediately looks around enthusiastically. 

“Let’s see…” she mutters, stomping over to your closet and pulling the doors open. “Do you own a tux?”

“W-what? I’m not going to wear a tux to...to a Christmas party!”

Meulin gives you a withering look. “Why do you think I’m dressed up, silly? This is a formal party!”  
Maybe it’s because you’re flustered, or irritated, or nervous, or all three, but you regret what comes out of your mouth next. “I didn’t ask you to invite me. You took it upon yourself.”

Meulin’s smile fades. “But…” she whines, holding out a collared black shirt and red bow tie that she scrounged up from god knows where. “I spent a long time making myself look nice, Kankri. I know without me, you’d just be sulking by yourself. Can’t you lighten up?”

“No!” you say testily. The instant the words come out of your mouth, they sound childish, whiny, like a toddler. 

This makes Meulin giggle, her smile practically lighting up the room. “Come on, Kankri. Put on the stupid shirt.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Otherwise I’ll do it for you.”

You snatch the shirt out of her grip and bolt into the bathroom before she can see two things: One, you changing, because that’s just common courtesy--and two, where the rest of the blood in you is going. 

 

****

 

There are too many people. There are too many damn people.You are being touched from all sides. You’re practically having a nervous breakdown. Why did you come here? Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?????

People are drinking, passing plastic red cups to each other and laughing inanely. There doesn’t seem to be any food, but at a table, there’s a lot of alcohol. That’s all they’re ingesting. No wonder everyone’s laughing. 

You’re the only one not moving in a crowd of people, so you’re being buffeted, and forced to move forward. Nobody pays you any mind, despite your worries. Everybody is paying attention to somebody else. You’re reminded intensely of high school hallways, in this throng of chatting, walking people. Meulin had walked you to the door and promptly turned white as a sheet as her phone rang. With a promise of “I’ll be right back!”, she dashed off into the back of the house, leaving you to fare alone in a crowd of mostly drunk strangers.

You make your way to a couch and sink into it, relieved to be off your feet. But on the other side, you realize with a jolt, there’s a couple tangled together, snogging. You cringe, get up, and get away as fast as possible.

Somehow, you find yourself outside, in the backyard. There’s a cat dozing on the pavement, and cold moisture clings to your pants as you walk. The sound of people becomes muffled as you close the door, and you kneel on the pavement forlornly.

The stars are coldly bright tonight. You wish you were at home, gazing at them with your telescope. You have better things to do than to sit alone at a college party, pretending that you were “cool” and “invited”. You wouldn’t have gone if Meulin hadn’t suggested it. And that’s what you get from taking her advice.

Maybe a party like this would be fun if you actually had friends. 

Why are you even thinking about this? You’re used to being alone. You’re used to being friendless and unwanted. You prefer it that way. Kankri Vantas, the Insufferable. Never shuts up, gets “triggered” easily. Let’s all laugh at Kankri, instead of trying to help him! Let’s ignore him and make him feel even shittier than he already does about life!

“Kurloz, I told you! I don’t want to smoke anything right now!”

Your ears perk up at the familiar female voice--Meulin, obviously. You’ve never actually seen her with her boyfriend before, aside from off campus, occasionally. Kurloz doesn’t go to college. He...you don’t know what he does, actually. And you’d like to keep it that way.

There’s a silence. They must be signing to each other. You sneak over toward the direction of the voices. They’re in the back alley behind the house, near the trash cans. It’s very dark, but you can see the shadowy outline of a man, and Meulin’s form behind him, dwarfed by Kurloz’s sheer height. Sheesh. The guy’s even taller than you.

His hands move as you watch from your ducked position behind a trash can. You have no idea what he said, but Meulin squeals. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”

A knot of fear is starting to form in your stomach. You really, really don’t want to get involved in this right now. The best, safest thing to do is run, get the hell out of here, before they see you.

Kurloz signs something else, and then grabs Meulin’s arm. She yelps and tugs back, but his grip is apparently of iron, because she’s unable to escape. “Kurloz, no! I told you! I don’t want to be involved with this anymore!”

That pisses him off. He doesn’t move, but Meulin cries out again, this time in pain. “Stop it!”

Okay. Time to go, right now. If Kurloz turns around and sees you, you’re fucked. You assume he won’t be happy to see you spying on his “quality time” with his girlfriend. But can you really leave Meulin to his whims?

You’re torn. This isn’t a story. You aren’t a brave, buff hero. You’re just Kankri Vantas, lanky and useless. And you do not care. About Meulin Leijon. At all.

_Maybe it’s not about caring. Maybe it’s about just doing the right thing. For once in your life._

“Leave her alone,” you snap, standing up. Kurloz whips his head around, and fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ You have never seen anyone more scary in your life.

In the dim street lamplight, his face is completely white. And then you realize that it’s painted with black around his eyes and mouth, and stitches on his lips. His shirt is a skeletal ribcage, and he’s wearing a pair of purple shorts over matching skeleton pants. His hair is wild, black and untamed and a few feet in diameter.

He lets go of Meulin and stares at you, and you feel very, very small. 

He doesn’t make a sound. But he smiles thinly, dangerously, and you immediately regret your actions.

Meulin puts her hands over her mouth. You silently will her not to make a sound. 

You swallow and cough, then stand up straight. Closing one eye and crossing your arms, you open your mouth and do what you do best: spout bullshit.

Well, what was about to become an incredibly long-winded lecture is cut off by Kurloz lunging at you and grabbing your throat.

Now you’re being strangled. Lovely. You kick and struggle in vain as Kurloz smiles again. Now closer to him, you can spot the scars on his mouth, and realize that his lips aren’t painted. They’re actually sewn together. 

“Leave him alone!” You can see Meulin rip her shoe off and throw it at Kurloz’s head. A nice sentiment, but as you’re still getting choked to death, you’re going to have to hold off on your enthusiasm. 

In the back of your mind, you hear Meulin screaming, but you know that no one will hear her, because the music’s too damn loud and everyone’s drunk. You can feel your eyes starting to close, the pain at your throat washing away all else. You’re downright furious that you’re going to end up in the back alley of a house, possibly seriously injured, probably NOT taken to a hospital in time. All because of a stupid girl.

That’s what you get for for trying.

And then:

“I said leave him ALONE!” Meulin’s voice resounds, and there’s a sudden lack of pressure on your neck. You’re dropped to the ground, gasping for air. Everything is white and blurry but you can hear yelling and god, you’re so tired. You’re so, so tired. There’s a symphony of shrieking in your ears and your head feels like it’s a swelled balloon and--

Everything swims into focus. Kurloz is hunched over, and Meulin is punching him relentlessly. You think you see tears stream down her cheeks as she yells, catching the light.

“I’ve had ENOUGH OF YOU! YOU’RE USING ME AND TELLING ME THINGS I DON’T WANT TO HEAR AND HURTING ME, AND NOW YOU COULD HAVE KILLED KANKRI! I’M NOT A PAWN IN YOUR FUCKING GAME, KURLOZ!!”

You try to cry out a warning, that the creepy mute isn’t going to stay down, that Meulin couldn’t possibly take him out by herself. But as your lips open and close soundlessly,   
Meulin kicks him in the balls. Kurloz’s eyes widen and he sinks to the ground, doubled over. 

Meulin looks satisfied, and runs over to you, but the smirk soon fades from her face. “Oh my god. Kankri, can you hear me????”

You try to say something in affirmative, but all the comes out of your mouth is a really pained-sounding groan. Meulin bites her lip and glances at Kurloz, who is starting to rise up again. Without another word, she reaches under you, scoops you up, and carries you to the porch.

Either you’re the approximate weight of a string bean or Meulin is pretty damn strong, because she hardly struggles with your limp form as she carries you to the light of the house. Setting you not-so-gently on the porch, Meulin frantically opens the door and dashes inside. Groaning, you pull yourself to your feet and follow suit.

Meulin is weaving her way around crowds of people frantically, occasionally checking behind her to make sure you’re still following. You are, more out of fear that Kurloz is going to crash into the house like a cartoon character.

Finally, Meulin opens the door to a room and ushers you inside. It’s very dark, and you blindly stumble around until you hit something and fall face forward. 

A closet. Out of all places...a broom closet.

Meulin looks around nervously. The music booms, muffled, and her eyes reflect the slight slivers of light.

“We’re safe,” she pants. And then she starts to giggle.

Surprisingly, you can’t contain a laugh. This whole situation is just so ridiculous. You’re hiding in a broom closet from a mute juggalo with a girl that you just rescued from abuse, apparently. Are you sure you aren’t from a fanfiction?

You two just keep laughing. It’s infectious. Then Meulin’s hand brushes yours, and the laughter dies in your throat.

_Physical proximity alert!_

“Thanks, Kankri,” she says gratefully. “I was in hot water back there.”

“It was...it was nothing,” you say graciously. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. In reality, your voice cracks and Meulin giggles again. 

“I didn’t think you cared,” she continues. The closet is warm and your sweater is thick and you’re getting a little sweaty. Or is it just that you’re embarrassed? 

_I didn’t care. it was a mistake. I was in the right place at the right time._

Your throat must not be working very well still, because what you say still makes no sense. “I didn’t want to just...stand around while Kurloz did who knows what to you.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Meulin’s face falls. 

“Kurloz…” she whimpers. “He used to be so nice. I wish I knew what happened.” She sniffs and rubs her eyes. “He was trying to get me to join his cult.”

So there really is a cult. Christ. What do you say? You’re wedged in a closet with a close-to-tears girls and you don’t know what the fuck to say. “Well...it’s okay now, isn’t it?”

Wrong. Meulin coughs out a sob. “B-but I have to see him tomorrow! W-what will he do to me? He’s going to hurt me and y-you won’t be there to help!” 

Is Meulin always this much of a crybaby? It doesn’t seem normal. She’s pretty independent, from what you’ve gleaned. But you can’t say that. 

Instead, you pat her bare shoulder awkwardly, feeling tiny little sparks of nervousness and adrenaline run through you. Or maybe it’s just static electricity. “Umm…” Wait, she has a point. You don’t want Meulin to get hurt because of her boyfriend, especially since you intervened. You don’t want her to get hurt on your behalf.

“Get him arrested?” you try weakly. 

Meulin laughs through tears. Her barely illuminated eyes are shining through the crack in the door. “Oh, Kankri. You really are out of touch.”

You shift nervously. You’re not quite sure what’s happening in this tiny little broom closet, but you know that Meulin is moving closer to you and you’re not as scared as you thought you would be. Her eyelashes are short and stubby, and the mascara is running from her tears. You can see acne scars through her worn layer of makeup. Her eyebrows are thick and you can see the hairs that have been plucked.

She’s prettier than you thought.

“Meulin, I…” 

Your mind is going foggy and you’re fairly sure that you’re losing touch with reality. Meulin’s breath smells like tuna fish. You know you haven’t shaved in a few days, and your skin is probably greasy from the potato chips you ate earlier today. Is there something in your teeth? There’s crap in your teeth, isn’t there?

Her lips are glossy, slightly chapped, but your fear comes back in a big rush all at once, and you fall back, stumbling on an umbrella.

You can’t do it. You cannot kiss the girl.


	10. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kankri finally discovers what Meulin's plan was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've known how this was going to end since i started it. it was just a matter of time.
> 
> sorry for the delay.

You lean back miserably and hear Meulin’s breath hitch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she’s already opening the door, and she’s gone before you can even take a second breath.

THREE MONTHS LATER...

aberrantChatter [AC]  began pestering causticGeneralization [CG] 

AC: OKAY, YOU WON. I BROKE. AC: I’M SO FUCKING LOST AND CONFUSED AND I WAS AN ASSHOLE AND I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU BUT YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON I HAVE LEFT.  
AC: YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS really stupid.  
AC: i dont have the right to expect your sympathy and i know it  
AC: fuck this fuck my life fuck everything 

Your first thought, to your immense shock, is not amusement or spite, but...regret. You actually feel bad for the poor shipper girl, alone at last. No, she’d always been alone, even though she did her best to hide it. She couldn’t stay mad at you forever.

CG: 9kay? Y9u can talk t9 me if y9u want. There were n9 attempts to “win” anything here.   
AC: no you dickwad   
AC: listen to me for once in your goddamn miserable life  
AC: you fucking hate me everyone does  
AC: im so sick of everyone lying about it  
AC: you always hated talking to me and you thought i was retarded and fat and ugly  
AC: you only put up with me because i wouldnt leave you alone  
AC: no one likes me and thats a fact  
AC: i hate myself 

You stare at that blinking cursor for a long time, and you have a feeling that in her dorm, Meulin is doing the same. Now, what you’d normally do is scurt away from offering advice, because you’re rotten at it, and it usually makes people angry. And when people get angry, you just vanish into the folds of your sweater and red text. How do you give advice to someone you, frankly, just couldn’t care less about? Especially when she’s pretty right.

You’ve never been broken. You never were broken. It was all a facade, a magic trick, to make people pay some twisted, reluctant attention to you. But does that make you, then, also lost, alone, and confused? 

God forbid something tie you and the crazy cat shipper girl together.

CG: Meulin, I’ve never said this to y9u 6ef9re, and given y9ur current state, I d9n’t think y9u’ll 6elieve it.  
CG: 6ut y9u make an excellent psych9l9gist.  
AC: gee thx   
CG: N9, y9u d9n’t understand.  
CG: I...Meulin, y9u were...  
CG: Just what I needed.  
CG: I’m s9rry. 

Leaning back in your chair, you offer yourself a small, self-satisfied grin. Meulin always swallows a little bit of self-deprecation on your part.

AC: thats all?  
AC: wow lets have a round of appluase for fantastic mr vantas  
AC: thats only the 300th time youve ever said that 

Uh-oh. She's starting to have trouble believing you. Better pull the sincerity card.

CG: N9, I mean, *I’m s9rry*.  


There’s a longer pause from Meulin’s end than you would like, and when she finally replies, your heart drops into your stomach.

AC: youre a fuckin liar   
AC: i can see right through you kankri  
AC: i assumed that you would have an ounce of humility in you  
AC: but obviously i was wrong  
AC: “you care too much” thats the worst bullshit i’ve ever heard  
AC: you dont care about me at all  
AC: im sorry i wasted your precious time 

aberrantChatter[AC] ceased pestering causticgeneralization [CG]

CG: N9, Meulin, wait!  
CG: MEULIN! 

The silence as you stare at your computer screen is physically painful to your ears. It pounds in your head as the blood rushes to your face. 

You’ve lost your most faithful follower. 

Well, you don’t care. 

What was Leijon to you? A month or two of irritating texts, and one party that almost got interesting. But pssh, that could be anyone. She always believed all the shit you spewed about yourself, but at the same time, cut so deep into your skin so casually, like a poem, saying all the truth and sufferings that you’ve been through...And you only once opened up to her, this girl who was throwing herself at you to help you because that’s the kind of person she was. You only once revealed yourself to her because you couldn’t possibly believe that she was the one who would worm her way into your shriveled heart. 

She always put you first, even when she was crying about Kurloz…

Oh god, what have you done? This girl was being emotionally and physically abused by her boyfriend and all you did was talk about your nonexistant problems. Those lines on her arms, those weren’t cat scratches, were they? But you, you foul, foul person, you talked about yourself to protect her from you, breaking her in the process. Oh my god, you have actually just broken someone! You have broken the only person that cared!

CG: Meulin.  
CG: Y9u were right.  
CG: I am a despica6le pers9n.  
CG: I mean it.  
CG: N9, NO! 

You’re so angry that, for the first time in years, you break your typing quirk. You slam your fist on the desk, wanting to scream. It just sounds like you’re trying to get her attention again! How can you make her realize?

CG: I AM NOT EXAGGERATING, OR LYING, OR BULLSHITTING!   
CG: Oh god Meulin I am so sorry. What the fuck am I doing. Oh my god.  
CG: Everything I say sounds like a lie, doesn’t it? 

You don’t notice the tears painfully coagulating in your eyes until you have to cough them out. When you do, it’s an awful hacking sob that comes out as a yell anyway, and tears drip down your cheeks as you know that you have truly, royally, for the last time, fucked things up. 

CG: I care!   
CG: I promise I do! I honestly, sincerely, truly mean it!  
CG: I was a horrible prick, and I never listened!  
CG: Please...believe me! 

No reply. 

You launch yourself out of bed and bolt out of the door, still wearing your ridiculous footie pajamas, and power down the stairs, Iphone in hand. It’s the dumbest idea you could possibly think of, but it’s your only hope, because if this doesn’t work, Muelin has just lost the only person that really, truly cares about her.

She’s outside, standing by the campus cafe under a streetlight. No one’s out at this hour, and it’s a horrible risk for anyone to be going out alone, but she’s bundled up thickly, huddled in a little ball, hiding her head. When she sees you, her face morphs into the foulest expression you’ve ever seen on a human being. 

You stop about ten feet away from the cafe and let her stand up to face you. The height difference between you is even more pronounced now that her feet are bare. 

Eight feet, six feet, four feet. She approaches you slowly, her hands balled into fists. 

Two feet. She comes up to your chest. Tilting her head up to look at you, in the dim light, her green eyes are clouded, wet, shadowed by bruise-colored bags.

Without a word, she pulls back her arm, and you flinch slightly as she flies in to sock your face. Your eyes close as her fist nears inches from your mouth.

You let out a shout of pain and stumble backwards, landing straight on your tailbone, onto hard cement. The followup punch to your jaw is punctuated with her ridiculously long fingernails digging themselves into your cheeks. Then Meulin kicks you viciously in the shins, repeatedly, until you’re balled up on the ground like a small child, waiting for the barrage of blows to end.

“That’s for being an insensitive asshole,” she proclaims triumphantly. “And I think, under most circumstances, I would check to see if you’re okay. But not this time.” Without another word, she spins around and stalks off, her overlarge cat pajamas hanging off of her torso limply.

You can taste blood. 

Holy fuck.

To be honest, Meulin isn’t that strong. You’ve been punched before. But that was the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to you. Not getting beaten by a girl--you’ve learned not to underestimate female opponents, because Meenah--but that she went through all that drama. Because you’re surprised to realize that you know Meulin well enough to be able to tell she was rehearsing that. She probably even wrote her lines out. How completely, utterly stereotypical. It’s just like one of Karkat’s romcoms.

You think you’re in love.

It takes you a long time to get up from your cold, battered position on the cement ground, but you see her standing there when you’re done, pretending not to look at you, paused midstep. She’s trying to look angry, you can tell, but her eyes are flickering to your split lip and betraying worry.

“Please tell me that hurt,” she says.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, although you’re mostly just trying to be nice. “That’d be painful for anyone.”

Muelin bites her lip and looks away. “I didn’t hurt you at all, did I?”

“Not really.” 

“Damn it,” she mutters. “I just made myself look incredibly dumb. I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

You sober instantly. “Listen, uh, about that...” The words are supposed to be stern, but your voice cracks and it ruins the effect.

Meulin isn’t smiling. “You’re still a jackass, and I wasn’t going to talk to you. I just wanted to leave you with that before I...left.”

“Where are you going?” you ask, perplexed. But one look at Muelin’s face and you can tell instantly what she was planning.

“Oh my fucking god, Meulin. You can’t...I won’t...”

“You won’t let me. Right. Because you really care about me a whole lot.”

Your voice sticks in your throat and you find yourself quite unable to articulate what exactly you’re trying to say. Muttering turns into a weak “Don’t...don’t do it.” 

The girl’s face is turning rage-red in the streetlamp light, a curling lip to rival Alan Rickman’s. “You’re a piece of work. The only reason you don’t want me to fucking kill myself is because you’d lose your only disciple. The only person that gives a shit about you. It’s all about you, never me.”

Hearing it in person is far, far worse. 

“That used to be true,” you admit desperately. “You didn't use to mean anything to me, I’ll admit it. I was a self-centered and conniving prick. But...” You swallow. “If you kill yourself, I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

“You’ll never be able to live with yourself,” Meulin repeats flatly. She’s ripping your facade, tearing you down, piece by piece. “Uh-huh.”

“NO! It’s not like that!” you screech, your voice rising in volume out of sheer frustration. Why is saying what you mean so, so hard? “I mean...Meulin, you are...errr...To me, you are...”

She turns around, not willing to listen anymore. “Don’t even bother. You’ve made your point perfectly clear.” 

She’s starting to walk off when you snap.

You blink once, grab her arm, spin her around. She gasps in surprise and glares. “Get your filthy hands off of me, you sick bast--”

Your lips meet hers, and her remark is cut off with a muffled squeak. 

You’re sure this is an absolutely terrible idea. You’re sure that Meulin is going to fucking murder you. But words weren’t working, for once in your shitstained life.

But to your pleasant surprise, Meulin doesn’t break away. She lets you mash your lips against hers like a fucking idiot as you try to piece together a single fragmented thought: I don’t know how to do this. Her arms wrap around your shoulders innocently, as do yours, and the kiss would almost seem chaste if you two weren’t, like, eating each other’s faces.

When you finally break away, you’re red as your sweater and there’s a buzzing warmth spreading all throughout your body. Meulin is similarly red-faced, but there’s a trace of a smile on her face that suggests it’s not from anger.

There’s a short, very awkward silence.

“So, was that...ah...do you, er...understand now?” you mutter, balling your fists as the embarrassment of what you just did sinks into you like a pile of snow down your shirt.

Meulin grins like a giddy child. “I think I get what you were trying to say. You don’t exactly have a way with words.”

A sudden thought occurs to you. “I just acted completely according to your plan, didn’t I?”

“More or less, yes, actually!” Meulin remarks happily. Oh, the sneaky bitch. No wonder she’s grinning. 

“You are fucking impossible,” you mutter. “What else do you have up those oversized pajama sleeves of yours?”

The cat girl grins slyly, and to your immense shock, winks. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out later. Much later.”

“So, later as in timewise, days or months, or later at night, or...”

“Late at night works for me.”

“I swear to god I will rip that grin off your face,” you stammer, caught off guard, not used to being flirted with. But you’re not really opposed to the idea, either. 

“Try me,” Meulin whispers, leaning closer to you. She’s so short you have to bend down to kiss her, and you still don’t know what you’re doing, but it feels good and hey, you have indulged in one or two fanfictions before. You’re not completely alone in the dark.

It takes longer this time, but eventually you two take your silly, hormone-riddled, broken, repaired selves back to Meulin’s place. And you two, you two lost, lost souls, you’ve finally found each other, and hey, it is pretty nice to feel the sensation of someone sleeping on your shoulder. Especially after you’ve finally taken those ridiculous sweaters off.


End file.
